


Just Another Day

by notjustmom



Series: Just Curious [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Canon Divergence - A Study in Pink, Canon Divergence - The Blind Banker, Canon Divergence - The Great Game, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, F/M, M/M, Marriage Proposal, a reimagining of the events leading up to ASiP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-13 01:43:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 46
Words: 40,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13560027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: The story of the boys from Just Curious continues... John has started writing his blog and Sherlock has hung out his shingle as the events that lead up to the "A Study in Pink" case begin.**note the bump up in rating in Chapter 16**





	1. Chapter 1

13 October 2009

Just Another Day...

 

Sorry for the lateness of the post. Another "eight" that became a three and a half still had us running all over town into the wee hours. I don't know where he gets the energy from. Luckily the new knee brace is holding up; thanks, Mike, for the suggestion. Now, if I could just grow a couple inches so it wouldn't be so bloody difficult to keep up with the git, life would be grand. Not much going on right now, I'm afraid, I'll post more when I'm not completely knackered.

Note to JackieO: I understand. People keep asking what they can do, and you just want your life back and for them to leave you alone. Maybe think of a couple things that you can't do, and ask someone to help? It isn't weakness to admit you can't do the things you used to do. You don't have to do all the things on your own and if you take ownership of it, letting those around you know you need them, then you might get a sense of having a bit of control again.

 

John hit publish and rolled his shoulder. Shower. No. Tea... hmmm... "Hmmmmm...?" Strong fingers worked the knots from his shoulders and he sighed.

"Come back to bed?"

"Why aren't you asleep?"

"I rolled over and you weren't there."

"Sorry. Just needed to post something, didn't have a chance yesterday."

"Any clients?"

"Nope."

Sherlock sighed. "Nothing from Lestrade either, and I finished that stack of cold cases, last week... so..."

John pulled him into his lap and shook his head. "How is it, that you keep getting more beautiful every damn day, and I keep finding new grey hairs every time I look in the mirror?"

"Silver, not grey..."

John rolled his eyes and muttered, "flattery will get you..."

"What?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him and John laughed.

"Back to bed, and I'll show you."

"Tease." Sherlock grumped.

"Up, you."

Sherlock kissed him gently then grinned at him. "What did Dr. Lincoln want?"

"You heard." John sighed. "She - she wants me to talk to a group at the hospital, lead a seminar on writing - it might be good - but..."

"If you're not ready, you should tell her that, but, it might be good for people to know - to see you -"

"It's just, I'm finally getting into a regular sleeping pattern, except for those nights when I'm chasing after you - and I'm afraid I -"

"Just tell them about you, about your experiences, and -"

John smiled at him and shook his head. "I love you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Come back to bed and show me."

 

Headline... 13 October 2009 "Sir Jeffery Patterson, dead at 43, in an apparent suicide... details and obit, page 4"


	2. Chapter 2

"What is -" John looked up as Sherlock entered the flat with a small cooler.

"Sometimes, when things are slow, Molly saves me, uhm, things -"

"Do I really want to know precisely what kind of things?" John asked quietly.

"Uhm, honestly, best not, but it might be of interest..."

"Now, I'm really afraid to ask - just -" John sighed and shook his head and turned back to reread the latest message on his blog. "Try not to - never mind."

"I love you."

"I know."

"John?"

"Hmmm?"

"How about I put this away, and we take a walk to the park, it's warm out today. You need a break."

John turned and found Sherlock giving him 'the look.' "I'm fine."

"John."

"It's just - there are so many, Sherlock. And I can't help them all." He closed his laptop, got up from the desk and walked over to the window. "I just didn't realise. I should have, and if I had just done things differently -"

Sherlock dropped the cooler on the table, walked over to John and laid a hand on his shoulder. "It's -"

"No, I know it's not my fault. But - I joined up because I couldn't deal with my life, the life I had spent most of my life creating, and it wasn't real. I mean, I had the skills, I could have - I could have stayed and helped these people who are coming back even more damaged than I am - but I'm hiding, telling these stories, I don't even know if I'm remembering things right. I could have -"

Sherlock moved closer and draped his arms around him and kissed his hair, waiting until he felt some of the tension fade, and John leaned into him. "I was going to say, 'It's a bit not good, and selfish of me, but I am so very lucky you made the choices you made. If you hadn't - I'm very certain, I wouldn't be standing here with you right now.'"

John turned in his arms and held his face in his hands. "Don't. Don't ever - please -"

"John. You are helping. You are, you are listening, giving them something that most people can't or won't do. Yes, perhaps, if you had stayed in surgery, you could help them in other ways. But sometimes people need words, kindness, more than anything else. I see you staying up late, getting up early, reading all these stories, and I know you feel for them, you understand more than most people could, and they know - they know you understand, because you are sharing your stories. Sometimes sharing our stories is the only way to remind ourselves that we are human."

"How -?" John shook his head and whispered, "walk?"

Sherlock nodded. "Let me put away - the, uhm..."

"Let me guess..."

Sherlock snorted and kissed his forehead. "Not in million years..."

"Kidney?"

"Nope."

"Long intestine."

"Nuh-uh."

"Liver?"

Sherlock walked back into the kitchen and took out the tightly sealed package of...

"Ears?"

"Of course - it's one of the ways to identify a family relationship, and when the identity of a corpse is unknown..." He placed the bag in the bottom drawer, as it happened to be empty, and John made a note not to open that drawer anytime soon.

"Wow. I just haven't seen that many - uhm - up close like that... I wonder how I got through anatomy class..."

"Come on, before the weather changes on us." Sherlock grabbed John's hand and they flew down the steps, and into the late afternoon light. 

 

So, did he freak out over the ears? - ML

No, he was interested, once he got over the sheer number of them. - SH

He's a keeper, hmm? - ML

 

Sherlock looked down at John, who was nestled against him, sound asleep.

 

Yeah, definitely a keeper. - SH


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock woke to the scent of cinnamon. Definitely cinnamon. Apples. And John had been up for hours. Damn. Eight o'clock already. He couldn't remember ever sleeping quite so well or so long in his life. Still no new cases. He gave a brief thought to the current state of the criminal classes, then took a deep breath and decided to follow his nose.

John was doing the dishes and humming something - the lullaby he played on those evenings when he knew it might be a bad night, he hadn't tried any other pieces yet, but it seemed to be enough for both of them. He was slowly rediscovering the joy he had from simply making a beautiful sound, and to have John be his audience...

"Morning."

"Smells brilliant in here."

"When I was out at the market, they had some beautiful apples and I - well, before I decided I was going to be a surgeon, I was going to be the next Julia Child."

Sherlock wrapped his dressing gown around himself, dropped into the chair and grinned at him. John poured him a mug of tea and rolled his eyes. "I used to watch those shows - she would invite these bakers into her kitchen and she would watch them bake. One time, it was puff pastry - pain in the arse - a lot of rolling and turning and so much butter, she did love butter. Took me a few times - and a lot of butter, but I finally got it - and it's brilliant when it works. So, I've been practicing, took some time but I finally got it - and I wanted to, I don't know, I - what?"

"You. You're lovely..."

"I - sometimes - I know, how you worry - I do. You try to hide it from me - I want you to know I don't ever remember being as happy as I am here, with you. You - I wish you knew, how important you are to me. And all I came up with was puff pastry."

"John."

"Yeah."

"I know. I knew from the moment you came home; you looked around and you couldn't believe this was yours. All I have, all I am is yours. And your puff pastry is beautiful, not quite as beautiful as you..."

"You're ridiculous."

"Yup. Guilty."

"Eat."

"Hmmmmm... damn. That's -"

"Yeah?"

"Uhmhmmmmm."

 

Lestrade knelt down next to the body and rolled his eyes. "Another one."

"Sir?"

"Something just feels wrong, Donovan - "

"Yeah, I know -"

 

Up for a pint? - GL

Sure, what's up? - JW

Just a long day and got a weird one, might be nothing, but - GL

Sherlock is working on his ash samples, he won't even notice I'm gone. - JW

What's he up to? - GL

Hmmm, close to two hundred, I think. - JW

Damn. - GL

He's had a lot of free time. - JW

 

Headline... 27 November 2009 "Local teen, Jimmy Browne, commits suicide... details to come, page 3."


	4. Chapter 4

"Hey, John."

"Greg."

"He didn't mind?"

John shook his head. "I left him a note, he warned me, but I've never known anyone with his -"

"Focus?"

"Yeah, it's a bit astonishing, I thought surgeons were intense, but -"

Greg watched his face go soft and realised that John really loved him; early on, Molly would look at him like that - no, she still looked at him like that when she thought he wasn't watching. He finished off the pint he had ordered while waiting for John to arrive. "What's yer poison?"

"Pint of Guinness?"

"You got it. "

John took a deep breath and let it go slowly. It was so strange to be, just out, in a crowded pub, he couldn't remember the last time...

"Here ya go, mate -"

John nodded and took a sip, then sighed. "Damn."

"Been a while?"

"Yeah, I was trying to remember the last time - eh - so, what's up?"

"You been reading the papers?"

"Sometimes -"

"I have a couple of weird, uhm, 'suicides.'" He pulled out a couple of files and laid them on the table. 

John narrowed his eyes at him. "You sound like you're not convinced they're suicides."

Greg shrugged and looked into his pint. "That's the thing. It's clear they are taking the drugs themselves, but, the bodies have been found in places these people wouldn't normally be - and I've talked to their families and friends, and, I mean, I know people can hide it when things are bad, but - these two people had no history of depression, no financial worries, the second one - eighteen year old footballer, just got a scholarship, had a girl - no reason - and it's the same drug - Molly says it's the same stuff, but it's nothing on the market - whatever it is kills 'em fast... damn. Sorry."

"No - it's fine. Just two of them, yeah?"

Greg nodded. "I'm just worried, it's possible, I know it sounds bizarre, but, I don't think they are doing it on their own."

"What do ya mean?"

"I dunno - these two just stink - something is just wrong. No evidence, just my gut, and I was wondering if - I know..." Greg took a long pull on his pint, then put it down. "It hits close to home, but if you thought Sherlock was ready, if he could take a look, the first vic was a Sir Jeffery Patterson - pretty well known in some circles, he was a 'family man' but had a 'bit on the side' so the rumours go, and there is some pressure to make sure -"

John nodded. He opened the first file and looked at the report. "They were both healthy."

"Yeah. I'm just a bit concerned that we've got -"

"Serial suicides? Can there be serial suicides? Nothing connects these two?"

Greg shook his head and sighed. "What if there's someone making them take the drugs - so it looks like suicide -"

"Is there evidence of another person?"

"No... just my gut tells me somethin' isn't right."

John finished his pint and collected the files. "He definitely needs something to work on - he's almost ready to ask Molly for more, uhm, test subjects... if there's something here - you have photos of the crimes scenes in here, and newspaper articles?"

"Yeah, listen - I made copies of everything, I - I'm not supposed to, you know - he isn't cleared, but -"

John narrowed his eyes at him, then nodded and got up from the table. "Got it."

"John."

He felt his left hand tense up, but took a deep breath and closed his eyes, then opened them again. "He's told me stories, and he knows with his 'history'... it's not your fault, just know - if he ever does get 'cleared' to get access to a crime scene and your people do or say anything to get at him - he isn't on his own any longer. Am I clear?"

"Crystal. I just want to tell you, John. I'm glad - you seem to be good for him."

John shook his head and managed to give him a smile. "He's - " he shrugged and Greg nodded.

"Nuff said. Let him know Molly wants to have the two of you over for dinner soon."

"Sounds good. I'll have him text you if he sees anything here."

"Thanks, John."

 

Where are you? - S

Didn't see my note? - J

What note? - S

The one next to the microscope. - J

Ah. You might want to pick up some milk. - S

John rolled his eyes. Anything else? - J

Just you. - S

Love you. Think I got a good one for you. - J

Brilliant. I was just about to ask Molly if she had any, never mind. - S

Be home soon. - J


	5. Chapter 5

"Hey." 

"I'm up to 20 -"

"6."

Sherlock grinned at him and nodded. "You're keeping track."

"Yeah. Course I am. Greg - Lestrade, he gave me copies of files - he thinks there's something else going on..."

"The suicides." 

"Yeah - you -"

"The first one felt wrong. But - then another... different part of town, the kid had no connection to Patterson... same drug?"

"Yeah, Molly has broken it down - it's not something they could get over the counter or on the street - Lestrade said they died quickly."

"And he wasn't sure I was ready, because - damn."

"He trusts you - he gave us everything."

"Us."

"Yeah, of course, us. You aren't doing this on your own, anymore."

"He has a theory?"

"Maybe someone makes them take it - he knows they actually take it themselves, but maybe they are coerced, blackmailed, somehow?"

"An 18 year old? Yes, a politician with a history of infidelity, but what could someone have on an 18 year old, nothing worth..." Sherlock took the offered files and made space on the kitchen counter. "Hmmm... crime scenes are clean. Whatever evidence, if there was any is long gone..." He paused and looked up at John. "I'm going to be up for a while... but you -"

"Coffee?"

"Please. I -"

"I know. Just -" John kissed him lightly and Sherlock rested his forehead on John's, "I'm here, you don't have to solve this tonight, hmmm?"

"I know. I love you."

"Coffee."

"Coffee."


	6. Chapter 6

"John."

"Hmm?"

"Time for bed."

"Got it all solved, then?"

"Nope. There is nothing there."

"You mean Lestrade's wrong?"

"No. There is nothing there, because whoever doing this is smart, and careful, and I'm guessing feels indestructible for some reason. And the odds are, it will probably happen again, and again, until we catch him."

"You think we will?"

"They always make mistakes, John. And he will eventually crave an audience, the clever ones do. And when he makes his first mistake, I - we will be there to stop him. But right now, it's three in the morning, and you have been sleeping in your chair three hours longer than you should have, so we are going to bed."

 

"Sherlock - I didn't expect you - John?"

"He's sleeping in." Sherlock closed the door to Lestrade's office and dropped into the chair in front of him. "I looked at the files on the two 'suicides' and you're not wrong, they stink."

"But..."

"There's nothing there. He chose buildings where he knew there was no CCTV, these two victims were random. He didn't know them, had no connection to them at all. Somehow, he picked them up, and got them to poison themselves in places they'd never go, unless forced to. So, my question to you is - who do we trust, without a second thought, in broad daylight, or at night, we don't even look at their faces, genius, really..."

Lestrade looked at him for a long minute then groaned. "Seriously? I hope you are wrong, Sherlock -"

Donovan banged through the door and stopped short when Sherlock turned to look in her direction. "Uhm, - Sir - Assistant Commissioner - line two - has been waiting for three minutes -"

"Tell her I'll call her back. Donovan. Donovan!"

"Sir." Donovan glared at Sherlock and closed the door.

"So, someone is driving a bloody London taxi, picking people up, then making them take poison?"

"That's my theory for now."

"Bloody hell."

"Yep."

"So..."

"There will be more until he makes a mistake." Sherlock got up from the chair and was about to walk out the door, when Lestrade stopped him.

"It won't be a problem - working with her?"

"Of course not, why should it be?"

"Last night, John -"

"Made it clear that I don't work alone any more?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him and grinned.

"Something like that, yeah."

"Next time, just come talk to me? I understand your concerns - I'm ready, Greg."

Lestrade searched his face and nodded, then rose from his chair, amd extended his hand. "Yeah, I know. I'm sorry."

"Don't be, we'll get him." Sherlock accepted the offered hand, then turned on his heel and was gone.

 

"Hey."

Sherlock slipped back under the covers, pulled John into his arms, and kissed him soundly.

"What was that for?" John asked when he could speak again.

"I went to see Lestrade, and gave him the bad news, ran into Donovan..." He shook his head as he felt John tense up in his arms. "No, it was fine. I know, John. I'm not a freak any more, because I know you love me... you don't know what that means to me, John."

"You never were, Sherlock. You never were."

 

Lestrade rubbed his face with his hands and sighed, then got up out of his chair and opened his door. "Donovan, Anderson. In my office, now."


	7. Chapter 7

"What did -"

"Sherlock... say it with me, now, Donovan, Sher-lock. Two syllables. Odd name, yes, or you can call him Mr. Holmes, next time you see him. He is the reason you have received promotions and pay raises in the past, so I'd give him a wide berth next time he works with us. Yes? You were going to say something, Donovan?"

Donovan closed her mouth and shook her head.

"He has completed rehab, and when I get the go ahead, he will be working crime scenes again - Anderson?"

"Nothing, Sir - just -"

"Just, what?"

Donovan glared at Anderson and he rolled his eyes, but said nothing. "You gave him the files on the two suicides."

"Yeah, I did - and he thinks we're right - and unfortunately, he believes, as I do, that it is going to happen again..."

 

John rolled over and snorted as Sherlock pulled him closer in his sleep. He wondered that he ever believed he had been in love before, and realised again, that what they had was the stuff poets only dreamed of. He pulled away just enough so he could examine the man next to him; all long lines and sharp angles, save for the ridiculously plush lips and wild mess of dark curls, and... he ran his fingers down Sherlock's back until they rested on his hips - "Hmmmm?"

"Sorry - I was just -:

"John." Sherlock pulled him close again and John closed his eyes; no other words were needed. John smiled as he heard Sherlock's breath stutter when his fingers traveled lower, dancing carefully on those places where no one else had ever found a home. "John."

"Yeah?"

"I want - I, please - just..."

"I know, love, just breathe." John sat up and gazed down at Sherlock, he looked so fragile, as if he would crack apart if touched too roughly, and then he rolled his eyes and smiled at him.

"I won't shatter, John."

John nodded, "I know - you have no idea, how much - you are so beautiful, and I -"

"John." Sherlock's voice broke and he reached up to hold John's face in his hands. "I trust you, I want you - only you, please - please, just... Johnnnnn..."

 

John was brought back to consciousness by the lightest of sound, it was just music, and yet nothing he'd ever heard before prepared him for the peace amd love he could hear coming from the front room. It was - Sherlock was playing his love for him, and John knew he had finally made love for the first time in his life, and he knew then that he wouldn't ever be the same again. He took a breath and the music paused, then began again, and he wished he could exist in this moment, where he knew without a doubt that he was loved, completely and without reservation, fully and -

Sherlock walked into the bedroom and smiled at him. "Tea?"

"Come 'ere."

"John?"

"I -"

Sherlock walked over the bed and sat down next to him. "Do you know?"

"Yes. I do." He reached up into Sherlock's curls and pulled him close. "I do."

 

John sat down at his laptop and realised he couldn't think of a single word. He got up from his chair and stood behind Sherlock who was standing at the window, looking down over Baker Street. "I can't stop him, John. Not yet - there has to be something that is making him do this, I just don't know what it is, but I will get him. I will."

"I know. We will, we will find him."

Sherlock turned and met John's eyes, then kissed his forehead and held him for a long moment. "I hate not knowing, not being able to do anything..."

"I have an idea."

"Hmmm?"

"Let's go for a ride."

Sherlock laughed and pulled him closer. "Have I told you how much I love you this morning?"

"Twice before tea and three times since."

"Good. Just making sure -"

"I know, love, I know."

"Good. Grab your coat, the weather is changing."

 

Headline... 11 December 2009. "London't 'finest' stumped by 'suicides'..." Editorial page of The Daily Mail

 

"Damn..." Lestrade sighed as he got up to pour himself another cup of coffee. "Molly? Yeah - I'll be late again."


	8. Chapter 8

The first 'crime' scene was a recently completed office building, bright and airy, modern, all glass and steel. John shook his head. "It will be impossible to get anyone to pay for space in here now."

"I don't know, some companies - notoriety is just as good as anything else." Sherlock paused as he heard a sound behind him. "Damn. Hullo, Detective Sergeant Donovan."

"What, my deodorant again? My hair product?"

"Nope, you've always walked heavy - and -" He turned and glanced at her. He could tell Lestrade had ordered her to behave, but he wasn't around as far as he could tell, and she seemed to be in the mood for a fight. He was about to try to make peace when John brushed past him and took Donovan's hand. "So, you're Donovan."

"Yeah - and you are?"

"John Watson, and very grateful that you found him in time."

"Wha- wait - you two - you? The -"

John narrowed his eyes at her and crossed his arms. "The -?"

"Nothing. I know why I'm here. Why are the two of you wandering around here?"

Sherlock finally found his voice and spoke quietly, "probably for the same reason you are. I wanted to see where it happened. I'm trying to see how he could have managed to get him here during the day and no one thought it strange."

"You seriously think it's a cabbie doing this?" Donovan searched his face and saw he wasn't the same person she had found months ago, near death - nor did he seem to be the same arrogant -

"Until I see evidence to tell me otherwise. From the case file, it seems like he knows what he's doing."

"Yeah, only things we found were Patterson and the vial with a couple of capsules left in it.. It's weird that he left the vial behind..."

"He couldn't very well take it with him -" Sherlock started, but stopped before he insulted her, and realised it was going to take patience to work with her on this. He blew out a breath as he felt John edge closer to him. "Sorry -"

Donovan rolled her eyes, but managed to smile at him. "It's okay - I - I'm just - how are we going to stop this guy? We can't put out a press release telling people not to get into cabs because they might make you commit suicide..."

"No, that would cause a widespread panic, and we don't have real proof yet - it's the most likely scenario, at this point, but -"

"So we have to wait."

"Yeah. Did you find anything?"

"No - I didn't expect to, it's been a couple of months - I just wonder if it's only been two."

"You think there might be others?"

Donovan shrugged. "First one we know of was in October, the second one happened in November... he hasn't done it often enough for there to be a pattern unless there are victims we don't know about -"

"How did you know about the victims?"

"Anonymous tips. First one was a cleaner - she got here when he had been dead for a couple of hours. Second one - was a fitness centre, he was an athlete, so it made sense, but he'd never worked out there, and it's far enough away from his neighborhood and the usual places he frequented... this time it was the owner, he came in that night to do some paperwork, and found the kid. So there's no help there. Again, victim had been dead for a couple of hours. Either he's just a lucky bastard or... I dunno - "

"He's been watching places, learning when they are empty, and the habits of the people who work there - it's risky, but maybe he doesn't care if he's caught..."

"Yeah, and he seems to know where CCTV isn't... so that doesn't help."

"Something else to think about - even if we track the alibis of all of the cabbies in town - he might just be posing as a cabbie..."

"You mean, he might be borrowing someone's cab and their ID..." Donovan sighed and shook her head.

"And if we start questioning all the cabbies, he might get spooked and start again somewhere else -"

"Damn." Donovan looked at him and laughed.

"What?"

"You know you aren't cleared yet - you shouldn't be here - it's technically still a crime scene..."

"Don't tell Dad."

Donovan laughed again and nodded at John. "Just, be careful. Listen - about before -"

Sherlock shrugged and put out his hand and she hesitated for a moment, before taking it. "I know I was a bit - "

"Yeah, you were, but I am sorry, and I'm glad things are better now. You'll be headed to the other scene?"

"Not today."

"Right. John, good to meet you. Nice someone has his back."

"Detective Sergeant Donovan."

 

"She wasn't so bad." John mumbled as he rested his head in Sherlock's lap.

"Anderson wasn't there, and I think Lestrade might have read them the riot act after my last visit. She's a decent detective, just has a chip on her shoulder..."

John turned and looked up at him. "Hmmm..."

"What?"

"Birds of a feather..."

"I don't know what you are talking about."

"Uhmhmmm."

"Aren't you supposed to be taking a nap?"

"There you are." John snorted and closed his eyes again. "Love you."

"Love you, too." Sherlock leaned back into the couch and tried to organise his thoughts as he slowly drifted off to sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a bit of violin story...

Sherlock was composing at the window when Mrs. Hudson opened the door, he looked up and tried to remember if they were expecting anyone. "Lestrade?"

"Dr. Lincoln? For John?"

"Damn, I forgot. Right. Please -"

Dr. Lincoln entered the flat and took in her surroundings, then met Sherlock's questioning eyes. "Very -"

He raised an eyebrow at her and waited.

"eclectic," she finished, and Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief. She made him nervous for some reason, and she knew it - she had similar skills, and though she was a bit more tactful, she never minced words.

"He's out at the shops."

"He goes out on his own."

"Of course he does." Sherlock rolled his eyes at her, then offered her his own chair, as he sat in John's.

"I really came to talk to you any way."

"Thought it might be the case."

She searched his face and nodded. "I can tell from his blog that he's - you've been keeping him busy. Is he sleeping?"

"Some nights are harder than others, but, we have ways of coping."

"Ways?"

Sherlock noticed she wasn't taking notes, or tapping away on her phone, and relaxed. "I can tell when it's going to be a bad night early in the day, usually. I make sure he's busy, out of the flat, and not sitting at his laptop too long - he can get -"

"Stuck in other people's stories?"

"Better than his own, I think, most days," Sherlock sighed. "He's still - I don't know - working on something - the nightmares, when he has them, now, they are rarer, but -"

"Worse than the ones before?"

"It's harder for me to reach him, pull him back - if that makes sense?" Dr. Lincoln nodded. "And he isn't able to tell me about it, as if he's afraid - I don't know, but I've learned when to push, and then when to get him out of the flat. The tree -" He nodded at the brightly decorated Christmas tree near the window, and she smiled. "I don't - never have liked Christmas, but, one morning, last week, he dragged me out of bed and told me we were going to get a Christmas tree and all the trimmings even if it took all day. It did."

Dr. Lincoln laughed, and watched him smile shyly to himself. "You need him as much as he needs you."

Sherlock shook his head. "It's not need, exactly. Well, it's partly that - it's - he can tell, he knows without knowing, when it's hard for me to breathe, and he - finds a way to..." He got up from John's chair and walked over to his violin, then turned and looked out the window. "I hadn't played this, even looked at it for nearly a year until one night, he asked me to play it. I had told him I 'played at all hours' - I used to, I did. Besides the cases, playing was my way of breathing, of focusing, like how some people do yoga, or drink coffee - I would play. And then I couldn't, my hands, or my brain, or what people call the heart/soul, whatever - I had been clean for a year, and then a case - just one of the worst things I've ever seen, kids - I got home after it was finished - and I pulled out my violin and I couldn't do it - couldn't clear my mind enough to play - and I broke the bow, pulled the strings apart - I would have smashed it to bits if my brother hadn't stopped me. He used to have this place under surveillance - don't worry - it's not any longer, before I even got home - because he was worried, and I probably would have died that night if he hadn't just sudddenly appeared. He took my instrument from my hands and put it away, then held me in his arms until I fell asleep. He was still there the next morning when I woke up. He took her away when he left and said he would bring her back when I was ready to play again. John is how, why, I play now. He - is necessary."

"Just as you are to me." John's voice was suddenly at his ear and he spun around to face him.

"Where -?"

"She had other people to see - I got home as you were telling her about the violin, and she knew it wasn't a story for her ears. She'll come talk when I call her."

"John."

"Yeah."

"I -"

"Yeah, I know."


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas...

They had an invitation from Molly and Greg, to spend Christmas Eve with them and the girls, but Sherlock glanced over at John, hunched over his laptop, as he had been for the last four hours and politely declined.

 

Wish them all a Happy Christmas from us? - SH

Will do. Just want you to know, how proud I am of you, I don't know if that means anything, but, Happy Christmas, Sherlock. - GL

Thank you, Greg. That means a lot. Truly. - SH

 

"Come on."

"What? No - I have -"

"Nope. Stop, and come with me."

"Sherlock."

Sherlock walked over to John, knelt in front of him and took his hands in his. "You have done enough today. I know - it's not a good day for a lot of people, I know, I do, believe me - I have spent more than one Christmas Eve in rehab, or here, alone, I know. But this year, for the first time, in a long time, I have a reason to celebrate. I am home, with someone I love. And we have a beautiful tree, and it's snowing outside."

"Snowing?" John whispered.

"Snowing. Please, give me an hour, and then we can do whatever you want or need to do, just give me, give us, an hour."

"I'm an idiot."

Sherlock shook his head, then kissed John's forehead. "No, you aren't. You are doing what you need to do for you, for them. I know that, and it's one of the reasons I love you. But, you sometimes need to stop, and just be here, and not for me... well, partly for me, but you need to take a breath and know you are loved."

John looked down into Sherlock's eyes - they had turned that iridescent green - blue, with a hint of gold, and he nodded. "Is it really snowing?"

"It's been snowing all day, and it's not that awful powdery stuff -"

"Snowball snow?"

Sherlock grinned at him and murmured, "snowball snow."

"And -"

"Hot chocolate with marshmallows after, and we've got firewood..."

John blinked at him, then nodded as he kissed Sherlock gently, then rested his forehead on Sherlock's, and closed his eyes. "I am out of words."

"I know, come on, let's go build a snowman."

"Seriously?" John's exhausted eyes glittered at him and he laughed.

"Why not?"

"Alright - yeah, why not?"

 

"I thought you were beautiful before - but - I had never seen what firelight does to you."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but grinned up at him. "Stop... you are -"

"In love, is all... how's your cheek?" John traced the spot where a neighborhood kid's snowball had found its mark.

"I think I'll live..."

"Good." John pulled Sherlock into his arms and watched the fire for a moment. "This is the best Christmas Eve I've ever had," he said quietly.

"Me too." Sherlock yawned and snuggled closer against John's chest.

"Happy Christmas, love."

"Happy Chrisrmas, John."


	11. Chapter 11

Sherlock looked down at his phone for a moment, then over at John, still peacefully at rest, spending time outside yesterday had kept the dreams at bay for once; he closed his eyes, took a deep breath and recalled his brother's private number.

 

"Mycroft."

"Sherlock?"

"Nothing's wrong. It's just that it's Christmas -"

"I am aware of the date."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but cleared his throat and went on. "I was wondering if you'd like to join us for tea later today - "

Mycroft blinked as he stood looking at his rather empty fridge. If he were anyone else, he probably would have wondered aloud who was actually on the other end of the phone call, because they didnt 'do' this, holidays, tea - talking... but he was who he was and simply answered quietly, "It is kind of you, brother mine - but I - "

"I was planning on playing later, my gift for John, and I thought, if you weren't too out of practice, you might, I don't know -"

"What time, Sherlock?"

"Around eleven?"

"I'll do my best."

"Good. If you can't make it - Happy Christmas, Myc."

"Happy Christmas, Sherlock."

 

Sherlock turned off his phone and snuggled down under the covers again.

"That was kind of you."

"He probably won't show up, he hates holidays even more than I do - did."

John snorted and drew Sherlock into his arms. "What changed your mind?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and mumbled into his chest, "Oh, I don't know, perhaps a certain doctor - sorry, blogger, cast a spell over me? Or maybe that snowball hit me harder than I thought -"

John chuckled, then pulled Sherlock closer, and heard him sigh. "I - I can't even remember last Christmas. I honestly can't recall ever being this happy, John, and, it scares me a bit."

"I know."

"There's a part of me that thinks at some point I'm going to wake up, and none of this will be real - that it isn't possible that I'm allowed to have this, have you -"

John kissed his hair and whispered, "is there something I can do to convince you that I'm not going anywhere?"

"Just don't let me go."

"I won't. I promise." John held him tighter and closed his eyes. "I'm here, Sherlock."

 

25 December 2009

I know for many people who frequent this blog, this time of year is difficult; in years past, I did not find much to celebrate, as I lost what faith I had long ago, and as I got older, I experienced very little joy and peace, and to have it forced upon me made me somewhat Grinch-like. This year - not just the last couple of days, but the last few months, I have discovered what it means to be happy. Truly, blissfully, happy, and I don't know that I ever knew what that meant until now. Sherlock and I didn't buy each other gifts this year, mostly because we ran out of time, but also, we don't really need anything - it's corny, but true, so we agreed to do something, or make something for the other instead. I know, I don't normally share truly private things here, and I may delete this at a later date, or he may, if he finds it too sappy - but - here goes:

Sherlock - it seems utterly ridiculous that we have only known each other a few months. There are times when I glance over at you, and you are carefully studying me, as if trying to memorise me - and then you blink and clear your throat and try not to blush - I could spend the rest of my life just looking into your eyes, and it wouldn't be nearly enough time to be with you - and yet, I feel I have known you forever, or at least before - there can be no other explanation for what we are, what we have become in such a short period of time. Yes, I know - it's not logical, or probable - but we are here, together - and a short time ago, it wasn't logical or probable that I would even be here still, let alone be sitting in front of a roaring fire watching you smile curiously at me, wondering what I could possibly be writing about. But you know. The gentle colour in your normally porcelain complexion isn't just from the heat of the fire, you always seem to know when I am writing about you, thinking of you...

Today, I was lucky enough to be in the same room with you and your brother as you played together. At first, you both seemed nervous, as if afraid to make a mistake, but then you grinned at him and asked him if he remembered, and you played a simple jig, more fiddle music than the elegant sounds I'm accustomed to hearing, and he laughed, then followed you - and for hours the two of you played - it was play, as if both of you had been transported to a childhood you had wished for, dreamed of, but never had. To see and hear the two of you in front of the tree - trying to outplay the other - and then finally falling into that place where you were simply playing with one voice - I know you don't believe in magic, but it was - I can't say I've ever been given a better, more brilliant gift. My words, you know I'm only a writer by default, feel unwieldy, unable to tell you what I want you to know. Just know, without you, I never would have known what true happiness feels like - thank you, for finding me, and for believing in me. Happy Christmas, my love.

John carried his laptop over to Sherlock and placed it in his lap. "It isn't published yet. If after you read it, you find it too, I don't know, personal, you can delete it - I just want you to know..." He kissed Sherlock's cheek, then walked into the kitchen and started to wash the dishes.

Sherlock read the words in front of him, once, twice, then a third time, looked up at the man in the kitchen, and bit his lip as he published the entry, then added a comment, and closed the comment section. Then he closed the laptop, placed it on John's desk, and walked into the kitchen, then without a word, turned off the water, took John by the hand and led him to their bedroom.

 

You are my happiness, John. Happy Christmas, my heart. - S


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has a secret...

"So, how is everything going?" Greg asked as John slid into the booth with a yawn.

"Good. No - it's really, we're -" John rolled his eyes and Greg laughed. "Anything new, yet? It's been over a month since the last one, you think he's done?"

Greg shrugged. "I don't know, at least the press has stopped harassing my AC who has gotten off my back for a bit, but, I don't think he's done yet."

"Your gut again?" John took a sip of his pint and watched his friend. The circles under his eyes were definitely darker; the holidays had not helped, perhaps..."Maybe it was the weather? He couldn't go out because -"

"He would be more obvious, not many cars - a cab would - yeah... damn. So, when the weather changes -" Greg drained his pint and got up to get another. "What is he up to tonight - more ash?"

"Hmm... no, he's been composing, since Christmas -"

"He's playing again?"

"Yeah... and Mycroft was over at Christmas, and they played together." John laughed at the look on Greg's face, and shrugged. "It was - something."

"I bet. So, tomorrow -"

"What about tomorrow?"

"You don't know?"

"Greg."

"It's Sherlock's birthday."

"Yer kidding me."

Greg raised an eyebrow at him and grinned. "He didn't tell you."

"No, obviously he didn't tell me - bloody hell." John pinched his nose, then glared into his pint.

"Birthdays, generally haven't been all that great for him -"

"But, I could have - listen - I have to go shopping - see you next week, if nothing happens before then? Try not to worry about, you know - not much we can do..."

"Until it happens again," Greg grumbled.

"Right - I know, it's - just know we have your back."

"I know you do, I should go home early for once, anyway, I'm beginning to forget what my kids look like..."

"Night, Greg."

 

Sherlock turned as John pushed the door open with his foot and nearly dropped his violin. "What did -? Damn. He told you."

"Yes, he - of course he mentioned it. Are you going to help me with these bags or are you going to stand there looking beautiful at me?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but put his violin away and grabbed a couple of bags that were about to fall from John's fingers. "You didn't have to - I didn't, I don't -"

"I know, but, I want to. I didn't know what to give you at Christmas, and you made it easy for me - but, I want to spoil you tomorrow, it's your day, and I - I know how bad birthdays are when no one cares."

"John -"

John shook his head. "I need to put this stuff away. This isn't about me... will you play me what you've been working on?"

"It's in the beginning stages - it's been a while, and I -"

"Please?"

Sherlock nodded, and walked back over to the desk to pick up his violin. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I just didn't want you to -"

"Make a big deal about it?"

Sherlock shrugged. "I can't really remember having a good one, some people..." He took his time fidgeting with the music sheets, then tuned and retuned his instrument, though it had been in perfect tone before John had gone out, and John knew it. 

"Stop." John was there, his hands resting on Sherlock's hips, and he stopped. "You deserve only good things, Sherlock. I want you to wake up every day, not just on your birthday, knowing that you deserve to be happy, deserve to be loved, because you do." He took the instrument from Sherlock's hands and put it away, then turned Sherlock so he could look into his eyes. "Tomorrow, we are going to do whatever you want, even if it's just to stay in bed all day, or go see Molly and pick up something for you to - whatever it is you do with those things... point is, tomorrow is about you, I will eventually spend some time making you a cake - yes, I will, because cake is obligatory, and I happen to make really good cake... and I -" Sherlock smiled at him and watched John's eyes slowly narrow at him. "What?"

"You."

"What about me?" John rolled his eyes and crossed his arms at him.

"I can imagine what you must have been like, giving your men orders - damn, I'm sorry - I - John -"

"No, it's fine."

"John. I just meant..."

John shook his head and whispered, "it's all fine, love. But right now, it's late and I want to take you to bed."

"John?"

"Don't make me give you twenty push ups..." John growled at him, and Sherlock nearly hit the floor, but for John's strong arms holding him up. "Kidding, I'm just kidding, just about the pushups, not about going to bed."

Sherlock laughed, took John's offered hand, and followed him to bed.


	13. Chapter 13

Sherlock couldn't remember the last time he was actually excited about having a birthday, but when he opened his eyes on his, let's see - he had to be turning... twenty-seven, yes, twenty-seven, though there were years he could have done without, honestly, he realized how happy he was to simply be there. Or was it here? And then, as he felt John's easy breath between his shoulder blades, he had to laugh at the ripple of sheer joy that shimmered through him, and he knew, without a doubt, that he had survived this long simply because he was meant to love the man curled around him. Logically, it was absurd, but as he shifted so he could watch as John opened his eyes, he knew for the first time, why he was here.

Dark blue eyes blinked at him, then narrowed, as if asking him if he finally understood, and he found all he could was bury his face into John's chest, hoping he couldn't feel him shatter apart completely, but he knew John knew as he felt strong arms fold around him tightly and kisses were pressed into his hair. "Happy Birthday, love. I'm so glad you made it."

He didn't remember going back to sleep again, but when he did wake up for the second time that morning, it was to the scent of scones and tea, bacon - and John, still wrapped around him, sound asleep. He watched him sleep for a minute or two, then somehow slipped out of bed without waking him, drew on his dressing gown and walked into the kitchen.

"Good morning, sleepyhead, in time for elevenses." Mrs. Hudson looked up and smiled at him. "You didn't tell him, did you?"

He shook his head and accepted a mug of tea and a kiss from her. "Lestrade told him last night - it mattered to him."

"Course it did, silly boy. You know why, don't you?"

Sherlock took a sip of tea and nodded. 

Mrs. Hudson placed a plate in front of him, and whispered, "sit... you know, Mr. Hudson and I -"

Sherlock put down his mug, covered his ears and mumbled, "no no no..."

"My point is, we had fun - and then - well, you know how well that ended... but what you and John have, that's real. You want to be there for him when he's having a nightmare, or just a rough day, and he wants to make sure you know you are important, not because either of you is stronger than the other, but because, together - you make each other stronger. Now, I'm going over to Mrs. Turner's, make sure your door is locked, so you have some privacy -"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but couldn't help but hop up from the table and hug her. "Thank you. Don't take too much of her money today, hmm?"

"Don't worry, lovey, I always let her win a few hands. Happy Birthday, Sherlock." She kissed his cheek again, then rubbed the lipstick smudge from his face, and disappeared down the steps, after pulling the door closed tightly behind her. Sherlock laughed to himself as he got up and locked the door, then made up a tray and carried it back to bed.

 

"I was supposed to do that for you," John grumbled from the pillows as he sat up and took the tray from him.

"No... I am supposed to do what I want today, and that means bringing you breakfast in bed, even though I can't take the credit for it."

"Mrs. H?"

"Uhmhmm..." Sherlock stole a piece of bacon from the plate and got back into bed.

"Just so I can keep track, exactly how old are you today?" 

"I did the math, and if I include all the crappy years, I'm twenty-seven."

John moved the tray to the bedside table, then opened the drawer and pulled out a box. "I didn't have time to wrap it properly - but, this is what I wanted to give you today. There are words I could say, but I think you know everything I want to tell you, so -" He opened the box and pulled out his dog tags, then closed it and put the box away. "I - they gave me a bunch of ribbons and medals, for 'gallantry' and 'courage under fire'... but they don't mean anything to me, I know what I did, I did the best I could, but I couldn't... sorry - I didn't mean to make it about me, today was supposed to be..."

Sherlock shook his head and placed his hands on John's face and gazed into the dark eyes that were filling up. "No. Today is about us, John. From the moment I knew you existed - you are the reason I am here, why I fought so hard to get home, to bring you home, us home. Today, it's just another day, it just happens to be the anniversary of the day I was born, but really, it's just another day I am lucky enough to spend with you." He smiled gently at him and brushed the tears away. "When I woke up this morning, next to you, I finally understood why I am here, John. I am here to love you. I lived this long, as hard as it has been some days, to be here for you." He reached down and opened John's tight fist gently, then took the dog tags from his hand, and carefully placed the chain around his own neck. "Today, all I want to do is be where you are, John, with you. And maybe have cake later?"

John kissed him softly and whispered, "because cake is obligatory..."

"Exactly."


	14. Chapter 14

John sighed as he looked over at Sherlock stretched out on the couch, fast asleep. It seemed as if the flat was waiting, or, perhaps it was all of London itself, holding its collective breath. The weather, the planets, or something, had kept the cabbie ominously quiet, which was good, John mused, but, it felt like they were stuck in a holding pattern. He had always hated doing nothing, and though he was a bit more patient than Sherlock, even he was getting antsy, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It had been twenty-one days since Sherlock's birthday, and they - for John, at least, it felt that they had always been together, and always here. Was it always easy? No. They were who they were, and sometimes, they needed to lock themselves away and just be still and silent together for a while and then they would get on with it. They had the odd case here and there, and Donovan would visit occasionally and pick their brains on the odd cold case or two, maybe have a beer and watch a match with John, while Sherlock puttered around the flat, then quietly leave the flat afterwards. Over all, life was...

 

Got one - GL

Damn. Where? - JW

Building site. Donovan's on her way to pick you guys up. - GL

Right. - JW

 

John walked over to the couch and dropped next to Sherlock. "Love? The cabbie -"

Sherlock yawned and sat up. "Finally. Damn."

"Yeah, I know -"

"Remember -"

"Yeah, I love you, too."

Sherlock nodded, kissed him lightly, and rested his forehead on John's for a moment and took a breath, then let it go slowly.

"You got this. You're ready."

Sherlock shook his head and opened his eyes. "We're ready, yeah?"

John nodded and helped him up from the couch. Sherlock slipped on his shoes, and pulled on his coat and scarf, checked for his phone and magnifier, waited for John to put on his jacket, then grabbed his hand and they flew down the stairs and into the cab Donovan had grabbed, knowing Sherlock wouldn't arrive at a crime scene in a panda or any other 'official' looking car. He looked over at her and nodded.

"Who was it?"

Donovan sighed. "A Beth Davenport, Junior Minister for Transport, she was out celebrating her birthday last night, and vanished a bit after midnight. Her car was found in the parking garage, locked up tight. A co-worker had taken her keys, knowing she had too much to drink, thought she was doing the right thing, probably was, but -"

"She had to hail a cab..."

"Yeah, looks like you're right. Of course, no witnesses saw him with her, no cab seen, but the site does have CCTV, we're checking to see if there's anything there. She was found by a foreman this morning - in a portacabin, bottle of pills by her hand, same MO, site's a good distance from the party, and she had no reason to be there - talked to her friends, she was single, good at her job, drank a bit more than was good for her...but, no reason to think she'd take her life especially, and no note, like the others..."

"On her birthday." Sherlock muttered as he looked out the window. "Who's on forensics?"

"Phil - Anderson. Listen, Sherlock - he can do it, just give him some space, you rattle him a bit."

Sherlock turned away from the window and nodded. "Probably won't be any evidence there to destroy anyway - thanks for -"

"You're welcome - and don't worry - it's just one of our PCs driving; I may not be you, but I'm not stupid."

Sherlock managed to laugh and grabbed John's hand, threading their fingers together. "I know, Donovan, let's just hope he got careless this time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been watching and rewatching the beginning of ASiP again and I am using Ariana DeVere's brilliant transcript for the dates, names of victims and crime scene settings of each of the four victims in A Study in Pink, which can be found here:  
> http://arianedevere.livejournal.com/43794.html


	15. Chapter 15

Sherlock groaned as the cab approached the portacabin and the surrounding site; he understood why the cabbie had chosen this particular setting for a murder; it would take them weeks to sift through the debris, especially with the snow that was now falling. "Even the weather is against us, it would seem." Donovan gave John a look and he nodded at her and she called Lestrade to let him know they were there, then she and the PC got out of the cab and made their way to the crime scene.

"He's left us nothing, again." Sherlock muttered into John's shoulder.

"Maybe you'll see something they missed; you said it may take some time before he makes a mistake, at least this time, you get to see the body, be on the scene, maybe there will be a scent - or -"

"I'm not a magician, John. I can't make evidence appear where there isn't any." 

"Sherlock." John held his face in his hands and waited until Sherlock met his gaze. "If anyone can get this guy, it will be you. You can do this, it might not be today, but we will get him. Now, c'mon, before Anderson destroys anything useful."

Sherlock snorted, and took a deep breath, then squeezed John's hand and whispered, "let's go."

 

"All yours, Sherlock." Lestrade stepped back from the body and nodded at John. 

Sherlock circled the victim, in one direction, then the other, then knelt next to her and picked up her hand. "No defensive wounds. She didn't fight back - did she have a bag? She didn't have her keys, but, she probably didn't know that until she got out to her car and searched in her purse. So, where's her purse - did she call a cab, or did she just walk until she found him... if we can find her phone... John?"

"Yeah." John knelt across from him, and put his face near the victim's mouth. "Asphyxiation, the colouring is right, no vomit - it's possible she was drugged before, to make her easier to move -"

"Or she was made to walk, gun, possibly? In any case, she knew she was in trouble. Purse was left in the cab. He wouldn't have let her take it with her - or - damn." Sherlock closed his eyes, then opened them again and focused on John's calm expression. "He makes them take the drugs, then leaves before they die. He doesn't need to see it - it's a game. He wouldn't leave the purse with her, in case she's able to somehow make a call before she dies - and can get help. I don't see a motive yet, if there is one, this isn't a political statement, or revenge of some kind, he's just trying to kill as many people as possible, but doesn't care if he's caught, and yet... he knows areas where he can take people and not be seen - so, I believe he is a real cabbie, who has been working in London for at least a couple of decades, knows the city, born here, lived here all of his life - working class, may be married, but I suspect if he did marry, he's divorced, might have kids, might not, but has a lot of time to just drive around all hours, first victim happened in broad daylight, next one, at night in the pouring rain - the snow may have made it harder for him to keep up a schedule, but perhaps he only does it when he feels safe - the sites where he takes them aren't planned out... He doesn't have to touch them. There won't be any evidence on the clothing from him, unless they picked up trace from the cab, but he wouldn't be that sloppy. He would clean the backseat each time to remove any evidence of anyone being in his cab... you aren't going to find much evidence on her clothing, check the shoes for trace, we might be able to see how far she walked, where she walked. But, he's smart, or just thinks he's smart..." 

"Brilliant." John murmured under his breath.

Sherlock winked at him, then looked around the tight, crowded space, everyone seemed to have paused as they listened to his rambling monologue. He got to his feet and nodded at Donovan. "I think we're done here - unless you need us for anything else?" Donovan blinked at him and nudged the PC's arm. Sherlock gave her a lopsided grin and she rolled her eyes at him, but the PC led them out of the crime scene and through the building site to the cab and then back to Baker Street.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ***note the bump up in rating here...***

Sherlock was half asleep by the time they arrived back at Baker Street, or at least he seemed to be.

"Sherlock?"

"Hmm?" Sherlock blinked at John and realized they were home. "Oh."

"Okay?"

"Yeah - just trying - to - this used to be easier, John." John almost threw a few pounds to the PC as he climbed out of the cab, until he remembered he wasn't a cabbie. "Thanks, mate."

The PC cleared his throat and turned back to look at them. "I thought that was brilliant - what you did, back there - and I - I know, you know about -"

Sherlock shook his head. "A lot of it was guesswork, probabilities, nothing more, until I get some hard evidence - and about the other - you are a marked improvement over her last entanglement. Just a bit less adoring gazes at crime scenes and no one should be the wiser for a while."

"Ta. Right - thank you - I know this case is really bothering the boss - so, thank you."

Sherlock nodded at him and slid out of the cab, behind John and waved as the PC pulled out into traffic once more.

"Him and Donovan?" John grinned at him as they walked towards the door. Sherlock sighed as he noted the straightened knocker. He pushed it a bit off center, then muttered, "Mycroft is here - " as he flew up the steps. "Probably to warn me off this case." He pushed open the door and crossed his arms as he waited for John to make it up the stairs.

"To the contrary, brother mine." Mycroft stood at the window. "I have the CCTV footage from the building site."

John stopped in his tracks, then shook his head. He knew he didn't want or need to know how. "Going to take a shower." He kissed Sherlock, nodded at Mycroft and retreated to the safety of the bathroom.

"Of course, I have been monitoring these 'suicides' from the beginning, and with this newest one - naturally..."

Sherlock crossed his arms and tried not to roll his eyes. "What will this cost me?"

"Nothing."

"But..."

"Just remember, Sherlock. The last few cases of import - the cost of solving them -"

"Too high. Yes, I know, Mycroft - I was there."

"You tend to -"

"Don't."

"I'm just concerned - you have -"

Sherlock searched his brother's face and waited.

"You have something I have never wanted, or desired, but it has changed you for the better. You have someone who cares for you, dare I say, loves you, and I'm worried -"

"Mycroft. We're fine. He knows - he knows how to - he makes me, I can't explain it, Myc. I care more for him, for his well-being than I do for anything or anyone else. He knows this case is weighing on me, that I need to do this, but I won't -"

Mycroft nodded, and handed Sherlock a case of discs. "I included some earlier footage in case the individual drove by in recent days. It only goes back a week. Lestrade contacted me when he realised there was the possibility of capturing him or the victim on CCTV. I am trying -"

"I know, Myc. Thank you. Perhaps when the case is over..."

"Yes. I'd like that very much. Do -"

"I will, we will, Myc."

Mycroft nodded again and left the flat without another word.

 

"What was that all about?" John asked as he heard Sherlock step into the shower then felt him fold himself around him.

"His job is to see patterns. He was concerned..." Sherlock kissed behind John's ear and grinned as he heard John's breathing change into a moan.

"Concerned about..." John asked in a hushed tone.

"Me. I have a habit of neglecting everything and everyone once I am involved in a case..." Sherlock pulled John closer against him and shuddered as John shifted just enough. "John..."

"Uhmmhmmm...? And..."

"I told him he had no reason to be concerned, as you - John..."

"Yes...?" John turned in Sherlock's arms, knelt carefully in front of him, then smiled up at his lover as Sherlock's bright green eyes were blown dark.

"You are - you keep me... right, John Watson..." Sherlock moaned as John took him slowly into his mouth, and Sherlock's fingers grabbed tightly onto his shoulders in order to remain standing. "John... you -"

John teased and licked and sucked until he felt Sherlock coming apart and took mercy on him, taking him down his throat and swallowing once. He came off with a pop and guided Sherlock carefully into his arms. "Don't forget it, hmmm? There will never be a case that is more important than you. You are brilliant, and amazing and I know you need to do this, it is what you are meant to do. I'm here, love, for you. Yeah?"

Sherlock laid a still trembling hand on John's chest and nodded. "I know... wanna help me up and go look at some CCTV footage?"

"How can I refuse... after I make you some lunch, hmmm?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but pulled him into a kiss, then whispered, "the thing with peas...?"

John chuckled and kissed his forehead. "Great minds..."


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the thing with peas...

The 'thing with peas' was invented on one of their bad days, one of those days when John was lost to his memories, and all Sherlock could do was hold onto him, reminding him he was not alone, that he was home. As evening fell, and John had finally fallen into a restless sleep once more, Sherlock slipped quietly from the bed and into the darkness of the rest of the flat, ending up in the kitchen, at the fridge. All they had was some leftover rice from the Thai take away from two nights ago, a bit of the roasted chicken Mrs. Hudson had made and left for them, before she had gone to her sister's for the weekend, with a note, reminding them once again, that she wasn't their housekeeper, but didn't intend to have them starve, and a lone onion, not yet gone. Sherlock didn't usually cook, John was the one who perused recipes online - trying this or that - until he perfected each dish to his satisfaction - his own experiments, Sherlock realized then, and he was the guinea pig. He sighed as he dumped the rice into the pot, dug into the cupboards until he found a can of chicken broth, opened it and poured in some, cut up the rest of the carcass of the chicken, and chopped the onion, not in the professional, unthinking manner that John had, he could do it so fast that tears didn't spring to his eyes, but awkwardly, carefully. He was glad for the tears, the tears that he couldn't shed while he had held John - who had barely known Sherlock was there with him. He added the chicken and onion - he realized that he should have cooked the onion first - but it was too late, ah well... as he stirred it, it occurred to him how bland it looked, just like hospital food. Damn. He walked over to the freezer, hoping there was something to make it less grey. He pushed aside the labeled packages - those things they kept in storage for his own bad days, until his fingers found a bag of peas. He was wondering how something so innocuous came to be in their freezer, when he felt John's breath at his ear.

"I'm sorry."

Sherlock shook his head, and tried to rub the tears from his face; John would know it wasn't just from the onion if he saw them.

"It's fine."

John took the bag of peas from his hand, then turned him so he could look into his face. "Sherlock. We've never lied to each other before."

"I couldn't get to you."

"I knew you were there, I have times when it's too much, to be here, I don't know if you know what I mean -"

Sherlock nodded.

"Today was the first time someone was with me, you have no idea what it was like to know you stayed, and loved me, even when I couldn't tell you." John kissed him lightly, then cleared his throat. "I think if we add a bit of curry paste to it?" It ended up being one of the best things Sherlock had ever eaten, and he didn't know why, perhaps it was because John ate three bowls of it, his eyes never leaving his own, giving him everything he hadn't been able to just an hour earlier, or because he realized that day he was strong enough to love another person without breaking, and not just anyone, but John.

It became one of those things they did together, always together, on days when one of them was having a bad day, or when they didn't feel like take away or taking the trouble to dress and make the trek to Angelo's or the chinese restaurant, or like today, when they didn't want to leave the other's side, needed to breathe in the other and no one else. John would dump in the ingredients and Sherlock, wrapped around him, would stir while holding John gently with his other arm, and his nose would be pressed into John's shoulder as they worked in complete silence.

"Do you think there will be anything there?" John asked quietly as they sat down on the couch together.

"Hmm?"

"On the footage?"

"I don't know - maybe this time he didn't know it was there, or he did, and wants to see if he can outsmart us. It's a game to him. I don't know why, but I don't think he is doing it because he wants to kill people... but, it's something he has to do - not a compulsion, exactly - I don't know. I just -"

John stopped his words with a bit of curried something or other and kissed his nose. "Food, then work."


	18. Chapter 18

Hours of nothing... the weather had stopped most of the workers from showing up, except for the foreman who showed up every day at the same time every morning, and left at the same time each evening. The cabbie may have parked and watched, or passed by, but just out of view... Sherlock was about to drift off as yet another fuzzy, grey image, another morning appeared on his laptop when John's fingers were in his hair, gently tugging.

"Come to bed."

"Just five more -"

John's lips found that place, that place that he had discovered early on he knew would shut everything down. "Come to bed, for just a couple of hours, rest your eyes." Sherlock felt John's fingers slide down his arms until they reached his hands, and covered them, replacing any thought of work with the desire to be touched, the need to be reminded there was more to him now - he was no longer just a brain, someone who was only needed when there was a case; the thought struck him, one might call it an epiphany, and it startled him to recognise that John took him seriously, seriously enough that it mattered what he wanted, what he needed. He nodded as he allowed John to help him from his chair, and into their bedroom, where John undressed him, and tucked him into bed.

"Don't leave me," he found himself whimpering as the morning light was creeping through the curtains.

"I won't," John whispered in return as he curled around him, and pressed gentle kisses between his shoulder blades until they both drifted off to sleep.

 

Same drug. Still don't know where it comes from, designer, Molly thinks, this guy must have a connection to something bigger. - GL

 

John sighed as he rubbed his eyes and hoped the alert noise hadn't wakened Sherlock.

 

They can't sell it on the street if all it does is kill people. - JW

Molly thinks maybe it's some modified party drug, changed just enough - she thinks it's a paralytic possibly. - GL

 

Damn. Coffee. Tea won't do this morning.

 

Nothing yet on the CCTV. He's going to start again when he wakes up. - JW

You got him to sleep during a case? - GL

He isn't a machine, Greg. - JW

I know, it's just, in the past - GL

 

John looked over at Sherlock who had rolled over and was watching him under his eyelashes, and brushed a curl behind his ear.

 

In the past, he didn't have me. - JW

We'll let you know if we find anything. - JW

 

He turned off his phone, and bent down to kiss Sherlock, lightly, then pulled back to look at him. "What?"

"Nothing -"

"Sherlock."

Sherlock shrugged and grabbed John's hand, then brought it to his lips, and closed his eyes. "You - I, no one - you let me be human, John. No one else has ever given me that before." He opened his eyes to see John smiling at him, and he pulled him down into his arms, pushing his face into John's chest, breathing him in, and allowing himself just another moment of his new reality, before he had to give himself over to solving this case. This time, for the first time, he knew, it wouldn't take over, leaving him hollow when he had finished it, because John wouldn't allow it. John would be there when it was done. John kissed his hair and made him meet his eyes.

"You are strong enough -"

"Because of you."

John shook his head and kissed his forehead. "No. Because you know you are strong enough. I'm just here to remind you of that, love. Now, I'm going to make some coffee and toast, and then we can get back to work, yeah?"

Sherlock nodded and watched John leave their room, and forced himself to get out of bed and into the shower.

 

"Gotchya." Sherlock growled at the screen hours later. "I gotchya." It wasn't much, but it was proof - a shadowy image of a woman stumbling on what looked like a broken heel, or no shoes at all - Sherlock closed his eyes. She had to know it wasn't going to end well for her, and an outline of a man behind her, and for the briefest of moments he had turned - a profile - Sherlock smirked at him, then backed it up again, and saw a slight grin - or perhaps he was just seeing things. He rubbed his eyes and replayed it again and again. Definitely a grin, as if daring Sherlock to catch him. 

"Game on, arsehole, game on."


	19. Chapter 19

Six more mind numbing hours, with nothing. Just his profile, blurry at that... and that grin - nothing on the cab - it had been confirmed that the woman was indeed Beth Davenport, so at least there was that - he stared at the wall, everything known was pinned up now, too little, far too little - he knew Donovan was working on trying to find where the drug came from, there was someone, or something bigger behind this, had to be... how would a cabbie know... he stalked over to the window, his gown flaring behind him... clothing... what was the cabbie wearing? He closed his eyes and tried to recall... he wore a cap over his face, a dark jacket? It was night, only a bit of light from... where? He thought back to the scene, headlights from the cab? He couldn't be holding a gun on her and a torch in the other hand, he had been correct in his theory about his age, he seemed to be in his fifties... he just needed more data. He sighed and went back to his laptop, and replayed the bit he had found - he could see Beth, in front of the dark figure, he didn't see a gun, the cabbie's back was facing the camera - but why else wouldn't she try to run, defend herself, unless she felt as if she had no choice? Then he turned his head, as if he had heard something behind him, or perhaps he had known the camera was there - and he was taunting him... why did he feel like the grin was meant for him? There was nothing in the press indicating he was involved in the case... unless somehow he knew he and John had been to the first crime scene... perhaps the cabbie had passed by... but why on that day? He looked down onto Baker Street, it was now, what? Early evening? One, two, three cabs passed by as if in search of a fare - but there was one - idling across the street, possibly waiting for a passenger, but... Sherlock blinked and rubbed his face - he was becoming fanciful, his imagination was taking over - he needed to sleep. He looked down again and the cabbie had got out of his cab and was leaning against it, it could be...

"John?" Sherlock whispered loudly, not sure why he was whispering - it wasn't as if the cabbie could hear him...

John came from the kitchen, where he was working on a new recipe to try out on him. "What?"

"Cabbie - down there - tell me you see him?" Sherlock found he couldn't raise his voice or move away from the window.

"The one leaning against his cab?"

Sherlock nodded. "He - I think the cabbie knows I am, we are working on the case... and our address is on the website - I thought, maybe people might want to write actual letters - I didn't think... what if he reads my blog, John? I have been writing about those cases - the famous ones - what they did wrong, why they were caught..."

"Sherlock, you just started posting those last week, he's been doing this since October, probably dreamed it up in all that free time he has. The odds -" John pulled his phone from his pocket and took a couple of photos before the man moved as if he had been stung, hopped back into his cab and took off. "Did you get the number?" Sherlock nodded. 

"OVO4 PYG... in his fifties, jacket at least three years old, cap, over his eyes..." He mumbled more to himself than to John, then slowly moved back to his laptop and pulled up the image once more. "It's him, John... It was him - he's daring me to catch him, before it happens again."

 

Lestrade fell into the chair usually reserved for clients, and he considered, yeah, he fit the bill most days, and looked over at Sherlock. "We're looking for the cab, you sure -" Sherlock glanced over at him and narrowed his eyes. "Of course you are - but why -"

"Go after me?"

Lestrade nodded.

"I don't know, no one else showed any interest in my blog until John, and there's been a few hits since, but it's not as if I have a fan - anything on the drug yet?"

"Molly and Donovan are working on it; there has been a new drug out there - looks a lot like the capsules we are finding at the crime scenes, but no fatalities, as yet - maybe it's a - I dunno?"

"Lestrade?"

"Just a thought - what if there are two drugs out there, one is poison, while the other might give people a buzz, just enough to make it popular, and then, they switch it out later, once everyone is hooked?"

John swore. "That means there would have to be someone with money and people behind him, he's not just a solo crazy - he's just a cog in a machine... Sherlock."

Sherlock was standing at the window in silence, then he turned towards them and took off his dressing gown. "I need some air. John? Angelo's after?"

John nodded.

"I have a press conference in fifteen minutes anyway - have to explain the latest one - I hate the bloody things, some days it sucks to be in charge." He got up slowly from the chair and met John's eyes. John only shrugged and walked him to the door. "Just - keep an eye on him - sometimes - he goes off on his own - and this guy - he's different and I can tell Sherlock is taking this one personally, I mean he takes all of them to heart, but this one -"

"Don't worry - he's not going anywhere without me."


	20. Chapter 20

They walked side by side in silence until they walked into the park, it was dark save for the new snow; and the lamps that left small puddles of light around the benches, Sherlock grabbed John's hand and threaded their gloved fingers together.

"I've never been afraid before, John,"

"Why do you think you are afraid now?"

Sherlock looked at their joined hands, then up into John's eyes. "Because I've never had anything to lose before."

"You're not going to lose me."

"I mean - it hasn't mattered before, I could just go off half-cocked, knowing Lestrade and his crew would eventually show up - but, this time, he's too close, he seems to know me, know us, it's personal for some reason, either for him or for whatever is behind it all - and I don't have a clue, John. I honestly don't know what it is I could have done to merit this, and I don't want you to be hurt because you are with me."

"You aren't doing this alone, Sherlock."

"John -"

"No. We are going to go eat dinner and talk if you want, or not talk - and see what happens. You saved me that day when you reached out to me, just by answering a snarky comment on your blog - and you keep saving me, by just being there. And I'll be damned if you are going to do this on your own. We are partners, love. Don't forget that. Now - lasagne?" 

Sherlock drew him closer and kissed his forehead, then leaned against him. "Lasagne, it is."

 

Lestrade sighed and glanced over at Donovan as they walked out of the building, on their way to get drinkable coffee. "Well, the only thing that could have made it worse didn't happen..."

Donovan snorted. "I don't know, Sir, there are times when I miss - don't get me wrong, I much prefer this version of Sherlock, but it was a bit of an -"

"Unmitigated fucking disaster...'don't commit suicide, then'...good one... bloody hell - it's that reporter - the one in the pink, from Cardiff, I think - wouldn't stop - what was the number of the cab again, Donovan -"

"OVO4 PY - fuck - it's him - damn it - car's in the lot - I think PC Dimmock is - he's, I put him in charge of -" She rolled her eyes at Lestrade. "He's good, will be good and you know it -"

"We'll talk about that later, Donovan, just give him details - I gotta get over to Angelo's, boys aren't answering their phones -"

"Sir?"

"I dunno, Donovan, somehow I get the feeling this will be the last night for someone... just hope John knows what he's doing... Go! Yeah - I need a car at 221B Baker Street, and one at Angelo's - and everyone needs to keep their eyes peeled for a cab OVO4 PYG, driver, white male in his fifties, has a female passenger in pink. Yeah, pink... don't ask."

 

"So tell me - you've never told me what got you into a life of crime, or at least crime-solving." They had foregone the wine for once, but were on their second cup of coffee, and halfway through their lasagne when Sherlock closed his eyes and stilled himself for a moment. 

"Carl Powers. 1991."

"You were, what -"

"I was 8, he was 11. Champion swimmer - came to London for a swim meet, drowned. They said it was a seizure - but, there was something wrong. There was a photo of his locker after - you know, one of those sentimental memorial things - it was left as he had left it before he went to swim... John. John - there he is - I didn't think he'd do it quite so soon after the last one - I should have - let's go -" He dropped his fork and was out the door before John could get to his feet. 

"Damn it, Sherlock." John rolled his eyes at Angelo, and yelled, "Call Lestrade... NOW! Tell him we are going after the cabbie on foot."


	21. Chapter 21

"Sherlock." John nearly ran over him, as he bolted out the door. "What is it?"

"He's taking her to Baker Street," Sherlock breathed out. "Come on, I know a shortcut -"

"How -?"

"One of Lestrade's famous gut feelings." He pulled out his phone and calmly spoke to Lestrade, his voice calmer than the expression in his eyes. "He's going to Baker Street. We'll meet you there."

"John with you?"

"Where else would he be?" Sherlock replaced his phone and met John's questioning eyes.

"I'm afraid to ask what your shortcut is," then groaned as Sherlock looked up. "I knew I wouldn't like it," he sighed, then grinned at him. "Let's go."

Dimmock was waiting for them in the alley, giving Sherlock a bit of a grin, as he muttered, "Donovan thought you might take the shortcut. He's out front with that lady in pink, just sitting in the cab, looks like he's waiting fer something or someone -"

They all jumped at Sherlock's text alert noise. He pulled his phone from his pocket and rolled his eyes as he read out the text.

 

I'll let her go if you take a ride with me.

What if I say no?

You'll never know how -

I know how, you use a gun on them, boring.

You know nothing.

 

Sherlock looked over at John. "You know what Lestrade said - the drugs, two of them - if I can get him to talk -"

"Sherlock -"

"He's already killed three people, John. He will kill her. I have the feeling he needs to tell me, he needs to show off, he needs an audience - he wants to tell me, show me just what a genius he is - it has to be me. You know it does. Dimmock - you and John will follow safely behind - he isn't stupid, he - John. Trust me. You know - I -"

John laid a steady hand on Sherlock's face and nodded. "I know - go."

Sherlock kissed his forehead, then walked away.

 

Let her go, I'm coming.

 

"Sir? Dr. Watson?" Dimmock looked years younger suddenly and John nodded and cleared his throat. 

"Yeah. Let's go make sure the idiot doesn't get himself poisoned, hmm?"

"Yes, sir!"

"No, sirs, Dimmock. I'm John - got it?"

"Yes - s - John."

 

Sherlock walked through the back door to 221B, taking a deep breath in, then let it go slowly, trying not to think it may be the last time he - he shook off the thought as he texted Lestrade. 

 

I'm taking her place. John and Dimmock will follow. I have GPS on my phone, you should be able to track it. If I know where he's taking me before he takes my phone, I'll text you. If anything happens tell John - never mind. I'll tell him myself. 

 

He muted his phone and pocketed it once more, then pulled up his collar and walked out the front door, closing it behind him, then turning to make sure the knocker was just slightly off kilter. He turned again and watched as the small woman in pink - journalist, he'd seen her before at press conferences - generally a thorn in Lestrade's side, got out of the cab. He almost laughed, until he saw the look in her eyes. She had known, but her makeup was still perfect, she hadn't shed a single tear, trying to convince him to let her go. He caught a glimpse of her wedding ring - not quite as shiny as the necklace or earrings - he stopped and met her eyes as she passed him.

"Take it easier on Lestrade next time, hmm?"

She nodded and bit her lip. He knew - god, did he know - now that she knew she was going to survive this night, if she didn't get hit as she was crossing Baker Street, she could begin to feel again. "Promise."

Sherlock climbed into the cab trying not to look back for one last glimpse of John as the cabbie started the cab and pulled out into traffic.

"Sherlock Holmes. Didn't think much of that DI, but he managed to get you onto me a little earlier than I had hoped, saw you and your Doctor sniffing around the first crime scene, just happened to be passing - I pass there every day, why I knew it was a perfect place..."

Sherlock sat back and examined the interior of the cab. He was sitting on a plastic cover - easy to keep clean; there was nothing distinctive about the rest of it, it was just an ordinary cab, no trick locks, or doors without handles. He was just a cabbie, who managed to convince four people that he was safe until he wasn't, and then -

"I'm a big fan."

"Fan of mine?" Sherlock snorted. "What have I ever done to deserve a fan?"

"That blog of yours - 'The Science of Deduction'... brilliant stuff, you are brilliant."

"Uhm... thank you? But how did you learn about it, it's not exactly a household name."

"Someone told me about you -"

"Someone?"

"Another fan - even bigger than me. Hard to believe, but it's true. He sat right where you are now, let's see, September it was, yeah, September... wouldn't let me look at him, thought about it, but he had one of those voices that meant business, it was soft, pleasant, even, but you kinda got the idea that he might go off and, well, he - told me about your blog, and he had a job offer fer me."

Sherlock groaned internally. Of course there was no motive - he wasn't doing it for other than - he gazed at a spot of shaving cream behind his ear. Single. Then spotted an old, but well-kept snap of two children, a third - divorced, then - his wife had been cut out. He did have a motive...

"Not much money in driving a cab, and he was offering me a fortune - it wasn't murder - ya know it wasn't -"

Sherlock looked outside and his breath caught for a moment. 

 

He's taking me to the pool.

 

John started at his text alert. "Pool? Pool. Damn. -"

 

"Greg - the Carl Powers case - the cabbie's taking him to the pool where Carl Powers died."

"Got it, gimme to Dimmock."

Dimmock nodded then ended the call and handed the phone back to John. "You know what this is all about, then?"

John shrugged. "Carl Powers was the reason Sherlock got into 'puzzle-solving,' it was his first case."

"But Carl Powers died back, what, in the 90s? So Sherlock was -"

"Eight, he was eight years old." John looked out the window then closed his eyes. Just keep him talking, love. Keep him talking.

 

"Funny. No one ever looks twice at a cabbie - those three, nearly four people? Mine was the last face they ever saw in this lifetime - here we are - you know why we're here? I don't - this is where - where I was told to take you when you caught up with me. Thought I might have a bit more time, but -"

Sherlock nodded as the cabbie opened the doors to the pool and they walked in - the smell of chlorine hit his nose and he closed his eyes for a moment then looked over at the cabbie. "When did they tell you?"

The cabbie laughed and shook his head. "He said you were good."

"Clothes are well-maintained, but three years old, so I'm guessing -"

"Three years ago, aneurism, any time, it could just go off..."

"So you have nothing to lose."

"Wanted to leave my kids something, I weren't much of a dad - or a husband - but -" He shrugged. He sat on one of the benches and patted the place next to him. "I'll be known as the man who outlived Sherlock Holmes - in a test of -" He pulled two vials. Each apparently identical. One capsule in each bottle. 

"Now you see? I knew I wouldn't have to use my gun on you, because more than anything, you want to know why things are, how they happen. You could have just taken me in - but you didn't even try, you knew I'd kill her if you tried any fancy hero stuff, and you wanted to know. There's one good bottle and one bad bottle." He held them in his hands and grinned over at him.

"You gave them a choice. And if they said no, that's when you showed them the gun."

Jefferson Hope shrugged. "I felt bad about the kid. Honestly, I did, not much older than my first, but - the other two? The best thing - was the power. I didn't even have to stay to watch them die - I knew the minute they picked the vial that they would be dead in less than two minutes. But I had power over these people, people used to wielding power, they realised how little power they actually had. They begged. They pleaded with me. Not this last one - tonight - she didn't even talk, didn't try to - before we begin - mind telling me why here?"

"Hmm?" Sherlock's thoughts had drifted off. "My first case."

"How old were you?"

Sherlock closed his eyes as he heard doors close quietly outside the building. "I was eight. Just started my second boarding school. Carl Powers was a champion swimmer, eleven years old, died in that pool over there, they said it was a seizure that made him drown. But I - where were his shoes?"

Hope squinted at him. "His shoes?"

Sherlock nodded. "There was a photo of his locker - as it was when he died - his change of clothes was there, his bag, water bottle, but no shoes, where were his shoes? To this day, I know, there was something wrong - but no one listened. I even went to the cops. They laughed at me. I left school without permission, got on a train with the money my brother always sent and went to the station. They listened politely enough, then patted my head. They didn't start laughing until after they thought I was gone. It was at that moment that I knew all I wanted to do was be better than them. All of them that laughed at me. And I - you almost beat me - but you turned and looked at that camera - just enough - you wanted me to know, to see you."

"I could have kept going til I ran out of the drugs - had enough to kill hundreds - but you realised after the second one what I had to be, and when I saw you at the first crime scene - no more talking - it's time."

"Yeah. It is. Time to put your hands behind your back and close your trap."

"Ah. Dr. Watson. I figured you wouldn't be too far -" John rolled his eyes and nodded to Dimmock who slapped the cuffs on him, then pulled him to his feet.

"Let's go, you. If you got more to say, I'm sure my boss would love to hear it. Night, John. Sherlock."

Sherlock nodded at him and tried to stand, but John eased him back down onto the bench before he fell. "I have you, love. You're safe." 

Sherlock shook his head. "No... there's someone - something bigger - I don't think he even knew his name - he would never give his name to someone like this guy - we have to tell Lestrade to make sure he's protected though - he knows enough to be dangerous to..." He leaned against John and closed his eyes. "Take me home, John?"

"Yeah, love, let's go home."


	22. Chapter 22

Before they could get to their feet, Lestrade wandered over and took a look at them, then rolled his eyes. He nodded at John and muttered, "Do you want a ride home?"

"No, I think we'll just walk if it's all the same to you?"

"Right - I'll be over tomorrow to take his statement."

"Thanks, just so you know - Sherlock thinks Hope, the cabbie, may be in danger, you might want to put a couple of your people on him."

"You mean the bigger fish -"

John nodded and pulled Sherlock closer. "Just give us a couple of minutes and we'll be out of your hair."

"Right, nothing here, really, anyway. Nice job, lads." Lestrade turned and walked back through the doors.

 

"Ready?"

"Yeah." Sherlock whispered into John's shoulder. "Thank you for trusting me, John - I was almost certain he wasn't planning on killing me, but -"

"You've never lied to me, Sherlock - and I know you. I know - you wouldn't leave me - if you had a choice. Can you stand?" He felt Sherlock nod against him and John stood, bringing Sherlock up with him. Dimmock walked over and bit his lip.

"Si - John. I - uhm, weather's getting nasty Sally, uhm, that is, Donovan has her car outside, we can drop you guys off at home. No talking - just - not right for you to be out, not after -"

John nodded as Sherlock leaned closer against him, then half carried him to the car. 

Donovan met John's eyes and hopped out of the car to help Sherlock in. "Nice job, Freak -"

Sherlock snorted. "You too, Donovan. You know I'm not -"

'Yeah, I know, kid, I know. Yer alright."

John slid into the back seat and took Sherlock's hand in his, and no one spoke another word until they reached Baker Street.

"Night, boys." Donovan said as she watched John take Sherlock's hand and walk up to the door. Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief to see that the knocker was still slightly askew.

 

John was relieved that Mrs. Hudson was away at the moment - one of those weekend trips that she never spoke of - and they didn't ask about; he didn't want to talk anymore, he didn't want to do anything but undress them both and not move from the bed for the next two days, or at least the next eight hours.

As it happened, they got eighteen; well, at least they spent the next eighteen hours in bed, whether they were spent actually sleeping... only they know, and they didn't tell.

 

"Hope."

Jefferson Hope sat up on his cot and nodded. "I was expectin' ya - I didn't tell 'em anything."

The small, dark man dressed in uniform nodded. "You didn't know anything to tell."

"You were right. He is good."

"Yeah. He's the best. I should know, he's been chasing me in my dreams since I was ten. Your turn to pick, Hope. Give me your best game." He held out his hands, there was a capsule resting in each palm. 

Hope picked one and knew at once. "Tell me your name, at least?" He closed his eyes and placed it in his mouth, then laid back down on his cot.

The man whispered something in his ear then kissed his cheek as he heard him take his last breath. He put his hand in his pocket, pulled out a business card and laid it in Jefferson Hope's outstretched hand.

 

J. Moriarty  
Consultant Criminal  
#iameverywhere

 

"How they go through life wearing all this nasty polyester blend, I'll never know." James Moriarty shivered as he slipped back upstairs and walked out of the station completely unnoticed.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and onto 'The Blind Banker'...

Sherlock flipped the card between his fingers. "Ever heard of him, Lestrade?" He asked quietly when he finally spoke.

Lestrade shrugged. "There have been noises about someone - or something... since before I even started, but the guy who waltzed into Hope's cell - he couldn't be much older than you, about John's age, I'd say -"

"The cameras -"

Lestrade sighed and shook his head. "Somehow - they all got turned just enough so we only know his hair colour and height - but audio was working, his voice is, young-ish, posh, educated - but, I dunno - there's something just 'off' about it."

John rubbed his face, then leaned forward and mumbled, "Carl Powers -"

"I was just starting - I'd heard - rumours - I was there, when you came into the station, and I, I didn't laugh, Sherlock. I got a look at the coroner's report, nothing there - and I was just a PC, walking the beat, but I was friends with the old pathologist - he wasn't sure either, but there just wasn't anything he could point to, just -"

"A gut feeling?" Sherlock looked up at him with a smirk and got up from his chair. "You checked the card for prints."

"Yeah, there were two, where you'd expect them, but they're not in the system."

"Of course they aren't. He wouldn't normally get his hands dirty. But he wants me to know. To have the cabbie take me to the pool - he knows me. Thinks I know him, and I suppose I do..." Sherlock walked over to the fireplace and pulled the knife from the mantlepiece - the one that served as a reminder - the things he couldn't solve, his missteps... John watched him carefully, but stopped Lestrade from getting up with a look. Sherlock placed the business card next to Billy and thrust the knife into it with a ferocity neither John nor Lestrade had ever seen in him before. "He thinks he knows me. He wants me to play his game... it won't work." He walked over to his violin case, pulled it out and began to play. Lestrade knew Sherlock was done and stood up.

"If I hear anything, I'll let you know - or - if you - this guy, don't try to deal with him on your own, John. Don't let him -"

John got up and walked him to the door. "I won't. Thanks, Greg."

"No, thank you, John - I know you two didn't get proper credit -"

John shook his head. "Publicity is not something a private detective wants or needs. We've taken the address and phone numbers off our blogs... people will find us if they really need to."

 

21 March 2010

Looks like we finally have an interesting case....

 

John sighed as he watched Sherlock pull on his safety goggles and gloves. Usually meant no good... it had been a month since they had a decent client, he was up to, at last count, 230 different types of ash, John had no idea there were so many, now he probably knew as much about ash as Sherlock did. After the conclusion of the 'mad cabbie case' as John had taken to calling it, Sherlock had tried once more without success to get the Met to reopen the Carl Powers case. He was told once again that there was no basis for an exhumation, the family was dead against it, and even with Mycroft's clout, his attempts to investigate the case on his own were stonewalled at every turn. John knew better than to hover, or ask him if he was okay, obviously he wasn't, and yet - Sherlock was somehow still there, for him. He was there at night when he reached for him, present even when 'forced' to watch Bond movies when they happened to be on the telly, and on Valentine's Day... John was lost in the memory of that evening when Sherlock broke into his thoughts.

"We need to go to the bank." Sherlock hopped up from his chair, binned his gloves and pulled the googles over his head, tossing them next to his microscope, then grabbed his coat. "John?"

"Coming."

 

Sherlock had opened the email hours earlier without paying mind to the sender, if he had he would have deleted it without a second thought.

 

From: swilkes@shadsanderson.co.uk  
To: sholmes@tsod.co.uk

 

"Sherlock -

Been ages since I laid eyes on you, mate, not since our days in Uni, what, eight years now? I hear you are a Consultant Detective - putting those 'skills' of yours, that we so greatly admired, to use at last. I, of course, landed in my father's old desk at Shad Sanderson - family does wonders... anywho -(Sherlock found himself grinding his teeth at this familiar bastardization of the English language - even in print, drove him mad) we have a bit of a problem and I think you might be able to help. There's a big check in it for you, if you are interested, just stop by the bank anytime, it is a bit urgent, however...

 

\- Seb"


	24. Chapter 24

Once inside the cab, Sherlock handed John a copy of the email. John read it once, then growled under his breath, "Seb? Do I need to worry about him?"

Sherlock turned towards the window and snorted. "No. It's just he was - the one, who made me realise I was gay. I hadn't given it much thought, to be honest, but, as you know - I was young - younger than most - I was eighteen, in my third year when he showed up... I thought - " He turned back to look at John's face and rolled his eyes. "No, it was nothing like that, it was a simple crush - and I realised just in time that he was just an arsehole with money, and a family that could get him out of any trouble he happened to get into... a rather attractive arse, but an arse all the same." 

John leaned back against seat and closed his eyes. "I just hope it's worth our time, or that I at least get a shot on knocking him on that 'rather attractive arse.'" 

Sherlock laughed and leaned into John's shoulder. "Did I tell you that I loved you this morning?"

"Hmm... not sure... maybe you should remind me..."

"Boys - Shad Sanderson," the cabbie muttered and rolled his eyes. 

Sherlock laughed and tossed him a few bills, as he pulled John out of the cab behind him. "Ta, Sam. Think we'll be good for today -"

"Right."

John looked up and whistled. "When you said you needed to visit the bank..."

"Yeah..." Sherlock cleared his throat nervously and John stopped him, and pulled up his collar for him.

"No worries, love. I've got your back."

 

"Sherlock Holmes to see Sebastian Wilkes."

"Sherlock Holmes.... it's been ages... and?" Sebastian glanced at John and sniffed.

"This is John Watson." Sherlock narrowed his eyes at him.

"Ah..."

"His blogger and shorter half, you might say." John crossed his arms and managed to loom over the much taller banker.

Sebastian's face paled for a moment, then recovered and he nodded. "Right, let's get on with it. Two nights ago, we had a break in."

"What was taken?" Sherlock asked.

"Nothing. Please follow me. It appears to be a joke, or a message of some kind... our late chairman's office - bit of a shrine, you might say, left as it was... never mind, doesn't matter in the least." He opened the door and John let out a low whistle. 

"Someone didn't like him very much, hmm?"

Sherlock stood quietly and stared at the ruined painting, a harsh streak of yellow spray paint covered the late chairman's eyes.

"Looks like a symbol of some kind -" John muttered as he pointed to other markings on the wall, in the same garish colour next to the portrait.

"We have a security issue, someone got in and out in less than a minute, without triggering our alarms, or being caught on CCTV, leaving this - and no, we have not informed the so-called 'authorities' - can you imagine, if it becomes public Shad Sanderson having a security breach? It wouldn't matter that nothing was taken; our -"

"Your stocks would plumet, and you might lose your lovely office, PA and posh parking spot?" John suggested with a straight face.

"Even so," Wilkes admitted sheepishly. "So, we need you to discover how the breach happened, so we can make adjustments - there will be a big cheque in it for -"

"I don't need your money as an incentive, Sebastian." Sherlock snarled as he took photo after photo of the portrait, the wall and the rest of the office.

"Right - I'll leave you to it, then. John, coffee?"

"Coffee sounds grand."

 

"So - John?" 

"Sebastian."

"You've known him - Sherlock -"

"I don't know how that is any of your business, but I met him several months ago."

"And -"

"And?" John raised an eyebrow, then took a sip of coffee, that he would admit to Sherlock later was probably the best coffee he'd ever had in his life, not that his standards were high. 

"You and he -"

"Flat mates, friends, and partners in every. sense. of. the. word."

"Really? Because back at Cambridge -"

"Yes?"

"It was assumed, well -"

"Rest assured, Sebastian, he's never been happier, if that's what you are asking."

"Quite - hmm - what is he doing?" Sebastian got up from his desk and walked out of his office as Sherlock was popping up and down between the desks, and cubicles as if performing a slightly mad dance to the amazement and amusement of Wilkes' co-workers.

John grinned as he finished his coffee, replaced the fragile cup into its saucer and handed it back to the chagrin of the banker, as Sherlock stopped, then found John's eyes and nodded. "He just determined who the message was intended for. Obviously, it wasn't a message for your late chairman, as he is no longer with us... and I know that's not what you hired him to do, but I think you'll find he already knows how it was done. And for the record, he may not need an incentive, but, as you know, time is money..."

"Yes. Yes, of course." Sebastian returned to his desk and pulled out his checkbook. "I don't need to remind you, to keep this confidential -?"

John's eyes popped just slightly as he glanced at the amount on the check, then folded it neatly and put it in his pocket. "We'll be in touch, Sebastian. Excellent coffee. Not to worry, our lips are sealed."

 

"Edward van Coon." Sherlock murmured as Sam pulled up outside the bank.

"Bless you?" John muttered in response as he climbed in next to him. 

"Hong Kong desk, Edward van Coon was the only person who could see the whole message, and it was done at a time when he, or possibly she, knew he would most certainly be there and the only one at work at that hour of the night. They climbed in through the window."

"The window, on the forty-second floor?" John turned back to get a last glimpse of the building and shook his head. "So we are looking for Spiderman?"

Sherlock snorted, then looked over at John. "Sebastian?"

"Perfect gent, after I let him know in no uncertain terms how perfectly happy we are."

Sherlock's eyes glittered at him. "You didn't -"

John shrugged. "He was rude enough to ask, and you know I'm a terrible liar. Next time we see him, we should ask where he gets his coffee from, it was excellent."

Sherlock shook his head, then lifted his gloves hands to John's face, gazed into his eyes for a moment, then smiled softly at him and kissed him until they reached the address he had given Sam. 

"Boys?"

Sherlock pulled away, then kissed John's forehead. "Have your gun?"

"Course."

"We might need it. Guessing the message wasn't 'have a nice day.'"


	25. Chapter 25

Sherlock pressed the buzzer next to van Coon's name on the list of flats with no response. He stepped back and looked up at the building, then swore softly to himself as he pulled out his phone.

"Lestrade? Yeah, though it goes against my better judgment -"

"Sherlock -"

"I have a probable crime scene."

"Evidence?"

"One of your famous 'gut feelings' and he was threatened at his place of work two days ago - you know I could get in - I'm giving you the opportunity to get us in legally - it's my case."

"Sherlock."

"My client, my case -"

"Fine."

"Fine?"

"I'm sending Donovan and Dimmock just - try - thank you, Sherlock. Text Donovan the address, just -"

"Play nice?"

"Yeah."

 

Lestrade ended the call, closed his eyes and waited for Donovan to storm into his office.

"Sir - what the?"

Without looking at her, Lestrade muttered as he worked his way through a report, "you know he could get in and you know his gut instincts are better than anyone's - and you know how much it must have killed him to call us before he went in on his own. You also know he isn't the same guy that he used to be. Once you two got over yerselves, you worked a fair treat on that cabbie case. It's his case, we're just - forensics and -"

"Leg work?" Donovan rolled her eyes at him, but couldn't hold back a grin.

"And take Dimmock with you, he can learn a lot from both of you, and Sherlock hasn't scared him off - yet."

"Sir."

"Just get there before he breaks in, yeah?"

 

"Donovan."

"Sherlock. What do you think you have?"

"Body."

Donovan sighed, then raised an eyebrow at him.

"Edward van Coon. Banker. All I can tell you."

"Right."

Donovan looked at the list of names and pressed the buzzer of the flat under van Coon's.

"Hullo?"

"Miss - I'm Sergeant Donovan, with the Met and we had an anonymous tip about something suspicious in your building, do you mind buzzing us in?"

"Uhm - yeah, I guess so - anything I should be concerned about?"

"Not as yet, we just need to take a look." Donovan glanced up at Sherlock. "May be a hoax."

 

"A hoax, hmmm?" Sherlock snorted once they had broken down the bedroom door.

John bent over Edward van Coon's body, then looked over at Sherlock. "Died before we were called in. Probably shortly after he got the message -"

"Message?" Donovan sighed as she sent Lestrade a text with a request for a Coroner's van and forensics.

Sherlock and John exchanged a glance, then Sherlock pulled out his phone and handed it to her. "This was left for him, he worked the Hong Kong desk at Shad Sanderson, it was done by someone who can -"

Donovan went through the photos, then raised an eyebrow at him. "Who can -?"

"Get in and out of an office on the forty-second floor, without setting off the security system, or being caught by CCTV. None of the doors were accessed - the only other way in was -"

"The window? So we're looking for -"

"Spider-Man?" Dimmock finished for her. "So this guy goes to work, sees the message, freaks out, locks himself in his bedroom and commits suicide?"

Sherlock closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then let it slowly before speaking quietly to John. "John? Can you please tell Dimmock why this isn't a suicide?"

John nodded. "Bullet on the right temple, gun in right hand -"

Dimmock shrugged. "Yeah?"

"He was left-handed."

Dimmock looked down at the body, then up at John. "How do you know?"

"This room is set up for a left handed person, it makes sense to me, as a fellow lefty." John waggled his left hand at Dimmock. "Phone and clock on the left side of the bed, if you look in bathroom, go on - you'll find his toothbrush and toothpaste -"

"On the left side of the sink... but, then why -?

"Why did he have a gun?" Sherlock asked quietly. Dimmock nodded. "He understood the message and was terrifed. He left work and locked himself up in his bedroom, thought he was safe seven floors up. After the bank, this building was a walk in the park. I think you'll find a bullet is missing from his gun, but the bullet that killed him won't be a match to the remaining bullets."

"So -"

"He fired at the assassin and missed, obviously. There will be a bullet somewhere -"

"Out the window," muttered Donovan.

"Out the window - so we need to put an APB out for Spider-man?" Dimmock walked out onto the balcony and looked down.

"Or just someone with mad skills, who doesn't mind heights. I think, if you go into his finances, you will find that van Coon made large deposits, to cover his losses, and I'm guessing those large deposits weren't from completely legal sources. Everything in this flat is of the highest quality - and you may want to make inquiries as to who might be the owner of the extremely expensive hand lotion on the right side of the sink."

Donovan snorted as she went to let in the forensics team. "And what, pray tell, will you two be doing while we are 'making inquiries'?"

"Need to see a man about some paint."


	26. Chapter 26

"What are we doing?" John asked as he followed Sherlock into the Chinese restuarant.

"Hmmm?" Sherlock murmured as his fingers flew over his phone. "Getting you some food, haven't eaten all day - damn... another one."

"Another -"

"Brian Lukis, freelance journalist, found in his locked bedroom, single gunshot to the -"

"Let me guess, right temple?" John sighed, as he began to turn back towards the door.

"Nope. You need to eat. We need to take a moment and eat. And think. In that order."

John dropped heavily into the seat and smiled gratefully at the owner who put a cup of green tea in front of him, then looked them over and rolled her eyes. "Boys... never eat enough, too thin, both of you."

After a late lunch of pork buns, dumplings, prawns, and several cups of green tea, Sherlock leaned back and closed his eyes. "So. Edward van Coon and Brian Lukis. What do they have in common? That we know of so far?"

John shrugged. "Until we see their finances, where they travel, what they do, where they go when they are home -"

"What do we know?"

"They travel."

"Yes."

"And if we discover that Lukis also received a message... we can safely assume they pissed off the same people or person. I'm guessing people - John - that shop across the street - what do you see in the window?"

John turned and drew in a sharp breath. "Looks like the symbols - the warning, threat, - wait, they are numbers?"

"Numbers - that can be turned into a -"

"Code?"

Sherlock grinned at him. "We'll wait on seeing my paint guy, it's drizzling anyway, so it's not a good day to find him. "

"I'm afraid to ask, but -?"

"Raz, he calls himself a 'political artist'... not really my kind of art, but he knows his paint, knows people..."

John nodded. "Got it - so?"

"We need to get into Lukis' flat - guessing Donovan and Boy-Wonder are already there -"

 

Need to see Lukis' flat. - S

You think it's Spider-Man again. - D

You know it's the same guy, we just need to prove a connection between Lukis and van Coon. - S

We'll be here another ten minutes, grab us some lunch, will you? - D

Will do. - S

 

"Hope dumplings and pork buns will do." Sherlock handed Dimmock a huge bag of take-away, then wandered the flat for a moment until he cleared his throat and pointed upward.

Donovan rolled her eyes. "Through that - he died because he left that window open a crack?"

"Or our trapeze artist got it open, but again, I think Lukis thought he was safe with the door locked on the inside, didn't think they could get to him through the window. We need to see Lukis' schedule, if he had a journal, something that -" Donovan handed him a small pocket calendar and grinned at him. 

"Have at it. Anything else?"

"Not seeing much in common with van Coon, maybe their finances will tell a different story - but van Coon was meticulous, while this guy, obviously was a slob. No sign of the message, at least not here, and I'm guessing he didn't have an office?" Sherlock flipped through the calendar until he came to the day of van Coon and Lukis' death. "Only thing on his schedule was the library - we need to go see what books he took out that day; and go back to Shad Sanderson to get van Coon's itinerary from his PA, possibly find out who his mystery woman was, and give Seb an update on his case..."

 

"What?"

"He came through the window, Sebastian, only explanation of the facts as they stand."

"But - that's impossible!" Wilkes sank into his chair and shook his head.

"No, merely improbable. But you have a bigger problem. Edward van Coon was murdered in his flat shortly after seeing that message. He knew it was a threat. So - I need to look into his finances, unless -" Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the banker and sighed. "You know what he was doing."

"No, not exactly, but he could lose millions one day, then get it all back faster than anyone I know. He was a smart guy - but no one - I - we looked the other way, because he always made it back, always made us money, and he was one of the few that didn't mind the constant travel..."

"Did he have a relationship that you know of?"

"Eddie?" Sebastian snorted, then paused and shrugged. "Ask Amanda, his PA. If anyone would know, it would be her. PAs -"

"Know everything." 

Sherlock nodded at John and left the room.

"Seriously, the window?" Sebastian glared at John, then sighed as he wrote out a check and handed it to him.

"Yep, just put some bars on the windows, and Bob's your uncle." John pocketed the check, then flashed Sebastian a grin and walked toward the door, before turning back and asking, "I almost forgot - what was that coffee you gave me last time?"

"Jamaican Blue -"

"Ah, maybe at Christmas. Ta."


	27. Chapter 27

"Amanda?" Sherlock approached van Coon's former PA quietly, not wanting to startle her.

"Yes? Can I help you?" She was playing with her hair as she looked up at him, a nervous tic, Sherlock decided. He quickly scanned her desk and tried not to roll his eyes as he noticed a lotion bottle, a perfect match to the bottle in van Coon's bathroom, but this one was nearly half used.

"Sherlock Holmes. I was hired to investigate the break-in, and now I'm trying to discover who killed your boss."

"Oh." She stopped playing with her hair and blinked up at him. Her eyes weren't red, but she had dark circles under her eyes, as if she hadn't slept well the night before.

He pulled up a nearby chair and lowered his voice. "He wasn't just your boss, though, was he."

"No -" She fidgeted with her fingers, as if remembering a ring that used to be there until recently.

"Why did you call it off?"

"I - I thought he was cheating on me - all those trips to China, they were becoming more frequent, and he would cancel our dinners at the last minute, no explanation other than 'work'." She narrowed her eyes at him and whispered, "how did you know - I mean -"

"The lotion. There is a match to it in his bathroom. But it's barely been used. He didn't throw it away after you left. There was no other evidence of your presence in his life, just your lotion; and you fiddled with your finger, as if you were used to something being there, I imagine you two had been engaged for a couple of years, you still kept your own place, though, you didn't quite trust him. But you miss wearing the ring and you miss him."

She nodded as Sherlock handed her a handkerchief from his pocket. "Now, I'm going to need your help - his itinerary, recently, the last few weeks, especially the last few days before his death. "You kept his schedule for him?"

Amanda blew her nose and turned towards her computer. "Yes, but he didn't tell me everything, sometimes I knew when he was going out of town ahead of time, and that would be on my planner, here - and when he was scheduled to return - I do have his receipts from his last trip, he was very good at keeping track of that, at least." She sniffed and printed out a copy of van Coon's scheduled appointments and travel arrangements for the last month before his death. 

"His finances?" Sherlock asked quietly.

She looked up at him and shrugged. "He had times when he was a bit nervous, but he always seemed to know - he was very good at his job, he was dedicated to that -"

"He was, what, 27?"

"28. He kept saying, 'Just give me til I'm 30, 'Manda, I'll be flush and out of it by then, and then we can go anywhere, do anything you want - just give me a couple more years. We'll have the kids, only if you want to - just a bit more time."

Sherlock leaned closer to her and whispered, "I'll find out who did this, Amanda. I know it won't matter to you, really, who did it, but, I think you know, he was working hard so he could be there for you more often." He looked up at the hairpin that held her bun together, unusual... Jade. He filed it away for later and turned to find John waiting for him. "If you think of anything, here's my card, just call, anytime." He laid the card on her desk and patted her shoulder, then strode over to John, taking his hand in his as they walked over to the elevator.

"She's wearing a new hairpin. Jade. Can't stop playing with it, thought it was a nervous habit at first. Both he and Lukis traveled to China - possibly for legitimate reasons, they each had a good cover -"

"Smugglers. They were smuggling?"

"But, I think they were smuggling artifacts, not drugs, small items they could pack in their carry on luggage - wouldn't be too suspicious. And Amanda said van Coon said to give him a couple more years and he'd 'be out of it' could be he meant banking, but it could be he meant he'd be out of the smuggling racket by then."

"So... what next?"

"Still raining - let's go to the library, see if they left the message for Lukis there, and we need to try to get their financial records for comparison, see if we can confirm our theory so far."

Sherlock pulled out his phone. "Anthea, yes, I'm fine, good, and how are your fish? Glad to hear it - listen - I need a bit of help with some records, and I know you can sweet talk anyone into anything... yes, yes, I know - you will? Perfect. I'll text you what I need. No - you know I have no control over what he - yes, well, if you know someone, and you think you can get him out of that club on Friday evenings... good luck to it. I'll send that information to you now." Sherlock's fingers fairly danced over his phone, then he turned it off and began to laugh.

"What?" John asked as they walked outside to their waiting cab.

"Anthea wants to set Mycroft up on a blind date."

"No, seriously?" John chuckled and shook his head. "I can't imagine -"

Sherlock's eyes glittered at him and then his mouth opened in surprise. "No. Well, if anyone - it's - no, she's too smart -"

John whispered back at him. "You think Anthea - and Myc -"

"She does have goldfish already... Myc wouldn't be that much more work..."

John smothered a snort and pressed his face into Sherlock's shoulder.

"Where to, boys?"

"West Kensington Library, Sam."


	28. Chapter 28

Found something interesting during the autopsy. - ML

Interesting? - S

 

A moment later, an image of a small, black origami flower appeared on Sherlock's phone. It was a bit crumpled, but clearly it was -

" 'The Black Lotus'..." Sherlock mumbled to himself.

" The Black- ?" John asked as they walked up the steps to the library.

Sherlock whispered, "The Black Lotus is a Chinese crime syndicate, basically, a gang - they usually don't leave traces like this, unless -"

"Unless?"

"I know why they died, John." He sighed impatiently as he waited for Donovan to pick up her phone.

 

"Donovan? Did you find an origami flower near Lukis' body?"

"Black?"

"Yeah."

"Under his body, found it after you two left, why?"

"Molly found one on van Coon."

"So -"

"One of them stole something from the Black Lotus, and they are trying to get it back."

 

Soo Lin Yao closed the glass cabinet carefully, her hands still shaky from her fright of seeing someone during her last tea demonstration - at least she thought she had seen him...

"Sister."

"It was you. Why have you come here?" She closed her eyes and hoped if she didn't turn around he wouldn't be there. Then his hand rested on her shoulder, and she knew her old life had finally caught up with her.

"You think we wouldn't find you?"

"I had hoped you had forgotten me, Zhi Zhu."

"You know we never forget."

"Ah, you are part of the royal 'we' now, brother?" 

"If you help us, you will be left alone."

"No more threats, then? A bit much, the yellow - couldn't you just send a text?"

"A sense of humour, now, little sister? Just wanted to get your attention. Something valuable was stolen from us, and we want it back, it's rather embarrassing to have to tell our client -"

"Client? Is that what they are called now?" She spun on him angrily. "You are selling off our artifacts, our history - they belong in a museum, they should be seen by the public, studied, understood - not locked away in some rich man's vault. But you never cared -" She stopped speaking as she looked into his eyes, the eyes that had once looked at her in love were cold now.

"She knew you wouldn't help, told me I was being foolish; you are not so innocent, sister -"

"I did what I had to in order to survive, Zhi Zhu." She lowered her head and closed her eyes.

"I'll be back." He kissed her forehead, and when she opened her eyes again, he was gone.

 

John sighed as he pulled out a stack of books from the shelf, "Sherlock -" 

Sherlock nodded as he saw the yellow markings. It had taken a bit of time to charm Lukis' recent history out of the librarian, but once she understood what they were doing, the tears began. Lukis had been a regular - every Tuesday, he was always looking for those odd books, the ones most people forgot, and she would spend hours trying to track down volumes for him - he was sweet, though, would bring her trinkets from his trips abroad, the latest was a tiny yellow cat that sat next to her computer. "He said it would bring me good luck." 

Sherlock handed her a tissue from the box on her desk, and whispered, "it's important that we see what books he checked out, you will be helping us find who killed him." She nodded and printed out a list of five books, all of which had some connection to Chinese history or art. It was behind where the last book had been shelved, "of course it's the last one..." John grumbled, that they found the yellow symbols.

"We need to find more, John." Sherlock murmured as he took several photos of the markings and texted the images to Donovan.

"More what?"

"More of the symbols, we can't break the cipher without knowing more of the characters. Time to see Raz."

 

"Ah, Sherl -"

"Raz."

"Whatever it is - I didn't -"

"This paint, these symbols, do you know them?"

"I know the paint, top of the line stuff. Don't know the artist, but I'll put the word out - who's 'e?" He nodded in John's direction.

"Partner."

Raz stopped and and looked at Sherlock. "That's excellent. You got yerself figured out then?"

"Yeah, yeah I do."

"Tha's good, Sherl - ya never really belonged -" He shot John a glance. "Never mind - I'll put the word out - distinctive yellow - it should pop -"

"It's important, Raz - two men have been murdered and I need to try stop more from happening -"

"I'll do my best - I'll text ya if I hear anything - I call it, 'Urban Bloodlust Frenzy."

"Catchy," John muttered under his breath.

"Ooh, I like this one, Sherl, sense of humour on 'im. Hold on to 'im."

Sherlock laughed, "I plan to - ta, Raz."

 

"Where to now?" John asked, as he tried to cover a yawn unsuccessfully.

"Need to stop at the morgue, and then, home." Sherlock studied John's face, and knew it might be a bad night.


	29. Chapter 29

Molly looked up at them as they entered the morgue. Long day already, she read in both of their faces. "So, yes, to answer your question, they both have the ankle tattoos." She folded van Coon's sheet up, just enough to reveal his ankles and the lotus tattoo, then did the same for Lukis. "Executions, it looks like then, hmm?"

"Looks that way - they tried to make it appear a suicide with van Coon, failing badly, but with Lukis, they just made it seem like it was a break in, they know what they are looking for, and I don't think they have found it yet."

"Any evidence to back that up?"

Sherlock's phone pinged at that moment and Molly rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, there is, freshly painted less than an hour ago -" He showed Molly a wall covered in yellow symbols. "I - we - I'm gonna send it to Donovan, and -"

"Where will you two be?"

"Hopefully at home, asleep..." Sherlock muttered as he kissed her cheek and flashed her a grin. "If you hear of anything -"

"I'll let you know - tomorrow."

"Thanks, Molly."

 

Looks like it's a wall near an underpass, you won't find any evidence of who painted it, and I'm guessing if you even find the wall it won't be there anymore. I can't begin work on it until I know what the cipher is based on. - S

Thanks, I'll have a couple people check it out. We did have a report of a sighting of the message again. - D

When? - S

Just came in. Weird place, inside the National Antiquities Museum. Security guard called it in, just because it was done on a thousand year sculpture - he didn't know its significance of the symbols. - D

Someone does. It was left for someone who works there. I have to get John home, just try? - S

Take him home, you two have done enough today. - D

Thanks, Donovan. One thought. Have Dimmock or someone get the books from van Coon's and Lukis' flats, see if you can determine what books they have in common - you'll find the symbols in the message are the numbers 15 and 1. The cipher is based on a book. So to solve the message you need to find the book, page 15, first word. It will be a book everyone has. - S

Go home. Turn off your phones. Both of them. - D

Will do. Ta. - S

 

John was nearly dead on his feet as they fell into the cab. Sam met Sherlock's eyes and drove them straight to Baker Street.

"You okay getting him upstairs?"

"Yeah, Sam, thanks." Sherlock handed him his daily wage and the normal enormous tip. 

"What time tomorrow?"

"I'll text you, hmm?"

"Take care of him. He's good for you, mate."

"Yeah, Sam, I know. Come on, John, we're home. Up we go."

 

Mrs. Hudson had the door open as Sherlock half carried John up the steps. "Did you two eat?"

"We had a late lunch - he just needs to sleep." Sherlock undressed John and put him to bed, kissed his hair, then closed their bedroom door, and turned to find his landlady watching him carefully.

"Sherlock."

"I'm fine, Martha, don't fuss."

"Hand me the phones, all of 'em, dear."

Sherlock sighed, and went back into his bedroom with his phone, John's, and the extra one he always kept for emergencies. "That's all of 'em."

"You need to sleep, too - I know you feel indestructible now, because of, well, him, and you want to solve this thing - just to -"

"What?"

"Sebastian."

"It has nothing to do with him. I don't have to prove anything to that -" Sherlock turned away from her, and shrugged. "Maybe a bit, yeah - but, it's not that, I just - I need to - there's something bigger behind this, and I can't see it, Martha. And I worry if I'm too slow on the wrong day, something will happen, and if anything happens to him -"

"Shh, love. Go be with him, and rest, maybe you'll see things more clearly in the morning?"

Sherlock faced her and nodded. "Thanks. I know -"

"I'm always right, you know."

"Yeah, I know." Sherlock rolled his eyes, then kissed her cheek, and went to bed.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a bit of squish... before I let loose tomorrow... heheheh :)

John drew in a sharp breath, slowly opening his eyes, and he knew Sherlock wasn't asleep. He didn't know how he knew, he just did. It was possibly just the sound of his breathing, not the easy breathing of him at rest, but the restlessness of thought, of concern. For him? About the case? They hadn't been at it for a day yet, and already, it was bothering him - that someone else was going through the books, or trying to decipher the symbols, while he was stuck at home with him, because Sherlock had known he needed to be home.

Sherlock rolled towards him and laid a gentle hand on his face. "I'm not stuck here, John. I want to be here for you, with you, and I thought if I could clear my mind, I could sleep or make the connections - but there isn't enough data yet, nothing to connect, and I can't sleep. I can't shut everything down."

"Can I do anything to help?" John asked him quietly. Their eyes met, it was more of a collision, John considered, later; Sherlock's green-gold eyes seemed to flash at him, then settle, and he shook his head.

"You already have, John."

"But, I -"

Sherlock pushed himself up on one elbow and looked down at him. "I was so used to doing everything on my own, that I didn't know how to ask for help with things, and now, you've helped me see I don't have to do it all, that I can't, but it's still hard to trust people - not just that they will do the work, but that they will take it as seriously as I do, as we do..." he yawned then laid his head on John's outstretched arm. "I'm still learning to trust -"

"Me?"

Sherlock's eyes popped open briefly and his eyes danced at him. "No, John. If I know anything, it's that I trust you completely." He closed his eyes as John pulled him closely against his shoulder, and soon he was fast asleep.

"Me too, Sherlock. Sweet dreams, love."

 

"Sherlock?" Mrs. Hudson asked as she walked into the kitchena as John was adding milk to his tea.

"Still sleeping." John smiled at her as she searched his face. "I got some, it's been a while since we've had a case like this, we ran ourselves ragged yesterday - took him a while to settle - what?"

"He - I - to be honest, I wasn't sure..."

"About me." He finished for her, and grinned as her face flushed slightly.

"It wasn't really about you - just, I have never known him to be good at taking care of himself, and now - you make him happy, John; and I never thought he'd ever - I just didn't think he would ever believe that he deserved to be happy. Do you know what I mean?"

John nodded and poured her out a cup of rea. "I do. I think we were just very fortunate, or the universe looked away for a moment, and - I've never been happier, Mrs. H. I promise I won't -"

"No. I don't, I didn't mean -" She shook her head at him.

"But, I do - I want you to know, it isn't in me to hurt him, do you know what I mean? He is so much a part of me now -"

Mrs, Hudson looked him over once more, then nodded. "I know. I see that. Thank you, John, Oh, dear, the scones... be right back, with a plateful." And off she flew down the stairs to rescue her scones from a rather crunchy end.

He topped off his own mug, and poured one for Sherlock, then went back to bed to find Sherlock just waking up.

"Hey."

"Morning."

"Did you sleep enough?"

John nodded, as he watched Sherlock slowly sit up against the headboard and reach out for his tea. John blinked at him for a moment then cleared his throat. "Do you know - I - just want to be sure you know I'm here for the long haul, for - as long as you -"

Sherlock carefully placed his cup down, then took John's from him and placed it next to his and gazed into John's eyes. "There will never be a time, John Watson, that I will not want you by my side. Are we clear?"

"Crystal." John smiled at him, then shrugged out of his robe and climbed back into bed, and pulled Sherlock back into his arms, laughing as he heard Sherlock chuckle against his chest.

"I do love you, John Watson, so very much."


	31. Chapter 31

How is it going? - S

Donovan looked over at Dimmock out cold on the couch, blanketed in books, more books covered the conference room table, still others were still in boxes.

Didn't think book hoarders still existed, hadn't they heard of e-books? - D

We do have a good idea who the message at the museum was for, a Soo Lin Yao, the Chinese antiquities expert, didn't show up for her shift yesterday, and didn't go back to her flat last night. I think her co-worker, Andy, is sweet on her - he says she never misses a day of work. - D

Mind if we go over to the museum? Just in case. - S

Knock yourself out. I'm going to give Sleeping Beauty another couple hours before I wake him up. - D

Just let us know if you find out anything. - S

Will do. Just, be careful, the boss has been on the phone all morning, you're making someone a bit nervous. - D

 

Sebastian Wilkes stood at his window and looked out over London. He loved this view, correction, he had loved this view until recently. He knew he had done nothing to get to the position he held, it was handed down to him, given to him on a silver platter, but he loved his life, and he was damned if Sherlock Holmes was going to take it from him. He couldn't be as good as he seemed to be - if only he had stopped at the break-in, taken the damn cheque, but no, he had to investigate van Coon's death. He had liked Eddie, sweet guy, he had loved the risk of the job, lose millions one day, get it all back the next - until Amanda broke up with him, and he wanted out, wanted to win her back, one more big score and he was done. Sebastian shook his head, you don't just get out, you can't just leave people like...

"Sebastian, call on line 1."

He sighed and walked over to desk and picked up the phone. "Sebastian Wilkes."

"Our mutual friend is getting a bit close, don't you think?" Sebastian shivered at the quiet voice, one he'd hoped not to hear from again.

Sebastian bristled. "He was never my friend."

"Seb."

"Sorry. I'll take care of it, I know how to stop him."

"You are thinking of threatening his pet?"

"His -"

"John Watson is not to be touched, do you understand?" The once gentle voice hissed angrily, and Sebastian knew to back off.

"Right." He sighed as the call ended abruptly, then he punched in another number. "Yeah, we need to meet, no, I know it's risky, but something has to be done about Sherlock Holmes."

 

"Andy?"

"Who's asking?"

"We're here about Soo Lin?"

Andy turned around and put out his hand. "Sherlock Holmes. Damn. Big fan - not the time, my timing, always suspect. Right. How can I help?"

"You told Sergeant Donovan that she missed her shift yesterday?"

Andy nodded. "She never misses work, she's never sick - something happened to her, I just know it. She's been working on her teapots for months - she wouldn't just leave them, they are her obsession."

"Teapots?" John asked.

"These, over here." Andy walked them over to a glass display case and pointed them out. "Over four hundred years old, she gives demonstrations, makes tea in them, she says they will fall apart if not used properly, 'like people' she says - said. Wait a minute." He counted the teapots once, then again to be sure. "When I left last night, there were only two that were shiny -"

"Now there are three." Sherlock mumbled to himself. "She's been here - can you show us where the graffiti was found?"

"You mean the weird yellow marks?"

Sherlock nodded.

"Down near the storage vault - and the work spaces, where pieces are repaired, or cleaned - I'll take you."

Sherlock shook his head. "Stay here - John?"

John nodded and patted his pocket. 

"Good. Just stay here, if you hear anything -"

"Like?"

"Oh, gunshots or -"

"Gunshots?"

"Andy - if you want to help Soo Lin, you need to be calm. Can you do that?"

"Yeah, of course, right. Sure. What do I do?"

"Just act as normal as possible. Just breathe, Andy, yeah?"

"Right, breathing. I can do that."

Sherlock nodded at him, then gave John a look and they headed towards the elevators.

 

The statue loomed above them, the yellow markings defacing the marble. Sherlock sighed. "Nearly impossible to clean that, whoever did that has no respect for history, or art - let's see - door is -" Slowly the door opened and a face peeked out. "Who are you - what do you want?"

"We want to help, Soo Lin."

She shook her head. "No one can help me."

"The warning."

"That isn't a warning. 'Dead man' is a promise, not a threat."

"Dead man?"

"The symbols, are numbers, and the numbers -"

"Are words, yes, we know, but -"

"The A to Z. They always use a common book -"

"That everyone would have." Sherlock rolled his eyes and pulled out his phone.

 

The A to Z. - S

Really? How, never mind. Yeah, they both had it. - D

We found Soo Lin, she knows the code, because

 

Sherlock looked at the young woman who stood in front of him and saw it in her face.

 

she was once a member of the Black Lotus. - S

How do you know she isn't still? - D

I just do. - S

Do you need backup? - D

Not yet. - S

Sherlock. - D

We'll bring her in, she can decipher the code faster, she knows it. - S

Right. Just be careful. - D

 

"You need to come with us, Soo Lin. They can keep you safe."

She shook her head."You don't know him."

"But you do."

She nodded. "He's my brother."


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the 'gunfight' in the museum...

"Your brother?" They had moved to a work table, where someone was working on putting together a piece of pottery.

"He is known as 'the Spider.' We were orphans, he always took care of me, but - he knew we needed help, and he thought when the Black Lotus offered us a home, it would be better than what we had, which was nothing. He tried for a while, not to get, I don't know, addicted to the power, but slowly, I saw him change. I was gone a lot; as a girl, who looked younger than my age, it was easy for me to get through customs, they never checked my bags - and one day, I'd had enough. I made my last delivery and came here, I eventually got a job - a job I love, and after five years, of hearing nothing, he came to see me. They had always known where I was, they were just waiting until they needed me. And he asked for my help in finding an item."

"Do you know what item?"

She looked down at Sherlock's phone. "Something jade, worth nine million quid. A pin."

Sherlock whistled. "Damn."

John looked up at him, confused. "What is it?"

"Amanda, van Coon's PA. He had given her a gift, hoping to get back together - a jade hairpin."

"Worth nine million quid?" John whispered.

"Depends who wore it," Soo Lin murmured. "The rest of the message is directions for where to bring the pin if found."

Sherlock's head snapped around at a sound. "Listen to me - you two stay here. John, no - John. Listen to me. You need to stay with her. No matter what you hear, stay with her." He looked into John's eyes, then kissed his forehead. "I'll be back, I promise." He gave John one last look and bolted out of the room.

Soo Lin finished decoding the message and handed it to John, who sent off a text to Donovan.

 

We've got it translated. - J

Yeah, we did too, Nine fucking million quid for a hair pin? - D

Crazy, huh? - J

We've got people heading to the tramway, you still have Soo Lin? - D

Yeah, Sherlock heard a noise and took off, bad feeling, Donovan. - J

Stay put, we'll be there in a couple minutes. - D

Donovan. - J

I know. Just stay with her, John. He can take care of himself. - D

 

"He is -" Soo Lin nodded toward the direction of the door Sherlock had just closed behind him.

John turned and looked at Soo Lin. "Yes, he is."

"Andy, he is sweet, but he won't want to - once he knows what I am."

"What you used to be."

"Doesn't matter."

"It does. Sherlock - the man who just ran out of here - he, had, has, his own issues, he works on them every single day, and I have my own, and we work through it together. No one is perfect."

"Andy is." Soo Lin sighed. "He thinks -"

"Once we get out of here -"

"You think we will -"

"I know it."

At that moment a shot rang out. "Damn." Soo Lin grabbed his arm tightly. "I'm not leaving you. I promised him."

 

"Be careful! Some of those skulls are over two hundred thousand years old! Have a bit of respect!"

Sherlock looked around as the gunfire ended. "Thank you?" He waited for a moment, but heard nothing, and silently went back towards the work room when he heard one last gunshot. "No... John!"

 

Soo Lin opened her eyes and looked down at her brother. Tears sprang to her eyes as she saw him look for her. She moved around John, who had somehow managed to kick the gun away from the other man's grasp, before he fell to his knees. 

"Liang."

"Sister."

"I'm here."

"I'm sorry -"

"I know."

"Be happy, sister." She watched as the light left his eyes and let out the breath she was holding.

"I'm sorry." John whispered next to her.

Soo Lin shook her head. "You didn't have a choice. He wasn't my brother anymore. He was a puppet, just a puppet -"

"John!"

John looked up to find Sherlock staring at him.

"We're fine. He's not. You need to call Donovan. Or Lestrade, someone -"

"John?"

"Call them, Sherlock, my fingers won't work right now." Sherlock fell to his knees in front of John and carefully took the gun out of John's hand. "Sherlock. I killed a man. You can't. I won't -"

Soo Lin ended the argument when she took the gun from Sherlock's hand, and placed her fingers over the grip, over where John's fingers had just been. "It would be weird if they didn't find his fingerprints on it, yes? I will say I grabbed it away from him -"

"Soo Lin."

"Sherlock - you - need to call her. NOW."

Sherlock nodded as he wrapped an arm around John. "Donovan? Yeah, we're all fine. Your assassin is not. Send a mortuary van, he's beyond help at this point. We're not going anywhere."


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know, seems like at least John is pretty much busted, but - just go with it, yeah? :)

"Well, this is a fine mess, Holmes." Donovan muttered as she walked into the room, then stopped as she saw them sitting together, John's head was resting in Sherlock's lap, his eyes were open, but not seeing anything; Sherlock was holding on to him tightly as if afraid if he let him go, someone would take him away, and Soo Lin was slowly getting to her feet, the gun in her hand. "Stop. Soo Lin?"

She nodded and held out the gun to her. "I did it."

Donovan put up her hand and shook her head. "Don't say anything else right now, yeah?" She drew on her gloves, pulled out an evidence bag from her purse, and gingerly took the gun from Soo Lin's hand. "Just, uhm, sit down for a minute. There -" she pointed to one of the work stools and watched Soo Lin sit carefully. "The van is parking right now. No one else is hurt?"

They all shook their heads.

"I'm going to have to take you all to the station. Sherlock. Sherlock?"

Sherlock finally blinked and looked at her. "Donovan."

"You all need to come to the station and make a statement, yeah?

"Right. John?"

"Hmm?"

"We need to go the station with Donovan, just to talk, okay?"

 

"Mycroft?" Lestrade looked up from his computer and sighed. "I can't -"

"You have no evidence."

"What do you mean I have no evidence?" Lestrade got up from his desk and walked around it to face down the slightly shorter man.

"The gun has been touched by all of them. And the video evidence, I mean what do you see -"

"I see John pulling out his gun, as the other guy enters the room, looks like they both fired at the same time, there may be a bullet somewhere in there -"

"I think you will find if you look closer, Detective Inspector, that the video wasn't operational for that period of time."

"Mycroft."

"Gregory. Do you remember what he was like before John?"

"Yes, of course I do." Lestrade crossed his arms and glared at him.

"Can you imagine what will happen to him, and to John if -"

"Yes, I can, more than you can, I think."

"Unfair."

"Possibly." Lestrade rolled his eyes at him and sighed. "You will make my life hell, won't you? Damn, Donovan's here already." He waved her inside. "Close the door behind you."

"Sirs." She looked at both of them and knew exactly what was going on.

"Did anyone say anything at the scene?"

"Soo Lin. She confessed."

Lestrade groaned quietly to himself. "What's yer gut tell you, Donovan?"

"John pulled the trigger, in self-defense. She wants to take the blame because she feels guilty for other things. Knowing John, he won't let her. Sir. I knew Sherlock from before. If you - if we arrest John, put them through a trial - it will not end well for either of them. And you know it. And this guy was there to kill all of them, not just her."

"What do you mean, Donovan?" Mycroft spoke for the first time since she entered the room.

"I had Dimmock go to Baker Street to get some clothes for them, just in case. And he found the message spray painted on their windows. Fresh paint, it must've been done this morning, after they left the flat. Mrs. Hudson's fine, pissed off about the paint, but she was out at the shops when it happened. Sir. He was a bad guy, plain and simple. Far as I'm concerned, John saved all three of them, maybe more."

"So..."

Donovan glanced over at Mycroft, and smirked at him. "I'm sure the feed can be taken care of, the gun evidence is too corrupted, who's to say who fired?"

"We have a body..." Lestrade muttered, mostly at himself.

"Yeah, a guy who was part of a Chinese gang, maybe one of his own took him out? He had already killed two people, Sir, and would have killed three more, if -"

"Okay, okay - let 'em all go, Donovan."

"Sir."

Dimmock knocked on the door then and at "COME!" stuck his head around the door. "There's a guy, Andy, looking for Soo Lin? Seems a bit freaked out -"

Lestrade pinched his nose and sighed, then murmured, "tell him he can take her home - no charges will be forthcoming..."

"Sir?"

Donovan nodded at Lestrade and walked out of the office, closing the door behind her.

"Thank you, Gregory."

"Well, I owe him for the cabbie case - and he's saved my arse more times than I can count - just keep an eye on them, I think John will have a problem with this, killing someone, no matter how bad he was -"

 

"John? We're home."

"Home?"

"Yeah."

"But -"

Dimmock got out of the driver's seat and opened the door for John. "You did our job for us, Sir - sorry, John. I'm not supposed to say anything - but, I'm not sure I could've done what you did today." He held the door open as John slowly got out of the sedan.

"I hope you never have to, Dimmock." He nodded and gingerly limped to the door, disappearing inside.

"If you need anything -"

Sherlock nodded as he watched John go inside, then sighed as he got to his feet. "It's just going to take some time. Thank you, Dimmock, and thank Donovan for us, I know -"

"She respects the hell out of you guys, I know you two weren't always friends, but I know she spoke up for you today, she didn't say, but I could tell."

"Tell her I owe her coffee or lunch, something -"

"Will do, Sir - sorry, Mr. Holmes."

"Just Sherlock, Dimmock." He offered Dimmock his hand and shook the younger man's hand, then walked to the door, sighing as he noticed that Mycroft had straightened it. "What now..." He shook his head and went upstairs.

"How the hell did you get here so fast?" Sherlock growled at Mycroft, then saw the graffiti on the windows. "Damn. Where's John?" He asked as he fell into his chair and covered his face with his hands. "This isn't over yet."

"I suspect not."

"We don't have any leads on the leaders of the Black Lotus, maybe Soo Lin can help - and I think -"

"Who?"

"I think Sebastian is buried in this up to his neck. He never would have called me in, unless -"

"Forget about it for today, take care of John."

Sherlock's eyes flashed at his brother. "I know what I need to do. I asked him to stay with her and he did. If he hadn't -"

"Not your fault."

"He was getting better, Myc, and now - will you make sure Sebastian - I know - I just have a bad feeling - just check on him? I'm going to bed. Good night, Myc." Sherlock got to his feet slowly, patted his brother on the shoulder and went into their bedroom, and closed the door.


	34. Chapter 34

"Sherlock." 

"Yeah, I'm here, John."

"Why - how did we get to come home?"

"Powers that be -" Sherlock finished undressing and slipped into bed next to John. "Sometimes it helps to have Big Brother on your side."

"But -"

"No." Sherlock pulled John close and felt him shiver. "John -"

"I'm fine."

"You're not."

"I've taken lives before, but this time -"

"He would have killed all of us, you know that, don't you?"

John shook his head.

"He came here first, John. He came to Baker Street before he went to the museum, someone wanted us dead, John, and you stopped him."

"Who?"

"I have an idea, but it doesn't matter right now. We are done for today, we are here because of you, John." Sherlock kissed his hair softly and held him tighter in his arms. "Just rest, John."

 

"You failed."

Sebastian didn't turn from the window. London at night from his window was even more impressive. The hand that held his drink shook but he tried to keep his voice steady. "I sent the best I had."

"You still failed."

Sebastian nodded, then took another sip. "I suppose you are here to kill me."

"What? Don't be obvious, Seb. I did warn you to stay away from his pet."

"How was I to know - he just missed them at Baker Street, nearly got them at the museum -"

"Nearly is NOT good enough, Sebastian. Failure just makes us look stupid, incompetent... if I had wanted them dead, they would be dead."

"Like General Shan?"

"Hmmm....she was a loose end... I loathe loose ends. But you still have your use, no. Don't turn around, just think of this as a friendly warning, Seb. You will not fail me again."

"No..." Sebastian answered back but knew he was once again alone with his thoughts.

 

"Mrs. H?"

"You have visitors." She touched his arm lightly and he blinked at her then rubbed his eyes and yawned.

"Sorry, who is it?"

"Young man, and a woman, Chinese, I think."

"Oh, uhm, yeah, you can send them up."

"John?"

He looked up at her and shook his head. "I'll be fine."

"You did what you had to do."

He nodded. "I know, it doesn't make it better, I just need -"

"Time. Just don't shut him out."

"No, don't think he'll let me."

"Probably not. I'll send them up."

"Thank you, Mrs. H."

 

"Dr. Watson?"

"Soo Lin. Andy."

"I - uhm, I know what you did for her, what you said to her before - about her past. I can't pretend to understand, but I - just thank you for helping us."

"She helped us."

"Can, I uhm, use your loo?" Andy asked, a bit sheepishly.

"Yeah, through the hall to your left."

Soo Lin raised her eyes from the floor and looked at John. "I am sorry."

"What for?"

"I know what it does, to take a life, it takes a bit of your heart. Please, don't let it take from you, from Mr. Holmes. My brother wasn't a good man, but he was my brother, and I will mourn what he had been, not what he had become when he died. I have hope, just a little, that I might be able to have a real life now, because of you and Mr. Holmes, so thank you."

John smiled at her. "Thank you, Soo Lin. What are you going to do?"

"Today, I have to go see Sergeant Donovan, she's hoping I can identify other members of the Black Lotus, and the museum says I can keep my old job, even after what happened yesterday, and you were right. I told Andy, and he doesn't care. Perhaps one day, it might matter, but for now, he is willing to take a chance on me. I'm not sure what he sees, but -" She shrugged and smiled carefully at him, he knew from experience that smiling was something new for her, but one day, it would come naturally.

"Take care, Soo Lin."

"Ready?" Andy asked quietly.

Soo Lin nodded and took John's hands in hers. "You are a healer, Dr. Watson, remember that." Then she kissed his cheek and smiled once more before letting go of his hands.

John watched them leave, closing the door behind them, then he went into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee.

 

"What are you doing?" Sherlock yawned as he walked into the front room.

"Obvious, isn't it?"

"Yes. Wrong question, why right now?"

"I need it to be gone."

Sherlock nodded. "Want some help?"

John shook his head. "What are we going to do next?"

"Next?"

"This case isn't over."

"It is for us."

John stopped cleaning the window and looked at him.

"Donovan has arrested the remaining members of the Black Lotus."

"But -"

"She's interviewing Sebastian, even as we speak."

"Sebastian?"

"I suspect that he knows a bit more than he was willing to share with us. She might be able to get it out of him, at least she'll scare him a bit. I don't think he'll give up his boss, he's not that stupid. He knows what happens to people who talk."

 

"Sebastian Wilkes?"

"Yes, how may I help you, Sergeant -"

"Donovan."

"Ah, yes, my chairman tried to no avail to get your Inspector Lestrade, was it, to end your investigations... you are quite obstinate..."

"Just doing my job, Mr. Wilkes. Now, you hired Sherlock Holmes to investigate a break-in a few days ago?"

"Yes."

"Why not call in the police?"

"Nothing was stolen, it was simply a breach of security, we thought it was wiser not to involve the police, publicity, especially publicity of this nature would not be welcome news to our investors, you must see that." He offered her his smarmiest smile, though he knew it was a bit thinner than usual.

"So, you brought in Sherlock - did he uncover your security issue?"

"Yes, if you can believe it, they were able to scale the building and enter through the window, and as you can see, we are in the process of putting bars up today. It's a shame, but needs must."

"What do you know of the Black Lotus?"

"The Black -"

"Lotus. A Chinese gang, they are involved in drug trafficking, illegal antiquity dealing, and murder. As I think you know."

Sebastian's face drained of all colour. "What would make you think that?"

"Edward van Coon - he -"

"Worked the Hong Kong desk, he is a great loss, to the company and for me personally -"

"So, you didn't know he was a member of the Black Lotus?"

"Of course not!" The colour in Sebastian's face returned and he stood up suddenly and walked over to his window, though the view was now partially blocked. "Sherlock..." he hissed under his breath.

"Right. I do need to see Amanda Smythe? She served as van Coon's PA?"

"Amanda, right - uhm, she's taken a few days off before she transfers. Eddie's death hit her hard, they had been engaged for quite a long time before she broke it off - they thought it was a secret..."

"Can I see her desk, then?"

"Of course. Not sure what good it will do, but, knock yourself out. I'll take you there."

"Don't worry yourself, Mr. Wilkes. I can find my way."

 

Donovan made her way to what had been Amanda's desk. The lotion was still there, everything was left as if she intended to return from a lunch break. Strange... Donovan thought to herself. She sat down in the chair and opened the drawer to find a delicate hairpin, made of wood and jade. Nothing special, she thought as she picked it up carefully and held it in her hands. "Nine mil for this..."

 

Found it. Nothing much to look at, can't believe it's worth nine million quid. - D

Matters who made it, and who wore it, more than what it looks like. Talk to Amanda? - S

No, Wilkes says she's taking some time before she transfers, but I don't think he's telling me the truth, I think she bolted. - D

And yeah, I think you're right, Wilkes knows more than he's saying, he's definitely scared of something. I think I made him a bit more uncomfortable today, and if I got him to the station... - D

No, don't do that, remember what happened to Hope. - S

You think it's Moriarty? - D

Yeah, I think it's one of his ventures, we shut down part of it, but it will just go deeper underground. - S

You did what you could. - D

Thanks, Donovan. For talking to him. I couldn't deal with him again. - S

Happy to. How is John?" - D

 

Sherlock looked over at John still scraping the yellow paint from the window. 

 

I think he'll be fine, just needs a bit of time. - S

 

He turned off the phone and walked behind John. "Leave it."

"Sherlock."

"John. I know you didn't sleep well last night, come to bed. And we'll work on it together later. I promise."

John nodded and dropped the paint scraper, then let Sherlock lead him back to their bedroom.


	35. Chapter 35

For the next week, they stayed in the flat, leaving only when necessary. John worked on his blog, but not as obsessively as he had before, while Sherlock seemed to be content reading old journal articles, and organizing his papers. Mrs. Hudson would wander upstairs once in a while just to be sure they were eating enough, usually to find them on the couch, John fast asleep, with Sherlock wrapped around him, he would raise his eyes at her entrance, give her a small smile and she would quietly go back down to her flat shaking her head.

"You know why I asked you to stay with her," Sherlock finally mumbled one morning as he tuned his violin.

"What?" 

"You know why I -"

"I heard you, I'm just not sure -"

"It wasn't that I didn't want you with me."

"I know."

"Do you know what I thought when I heard that gunshot?"

John knew it was a purely rhetorical question, so he said nothing, but closed his laptop and walked over to stand behind Sherlock, placing a steady hand on Sherlock's back, just barely touching, yet he could feel Sherlock tremble under his fingertips.

"I thought I had lost you. I thought you were gone, John, and I wasn't ready to lose you. I can't see myself without you, and it would have been my fault if -"

"You didn't lose me. I'm right here, Sherlock. You know I wanted to go to you, to protect you when I heard that first shot, but we both know he would have killed her without a second thought. She wasn't safe, and you knew if something had happened to her, I never would have forgiven myself. Look at me, please."

Sherlock shook his head.

"Love. Just turn around, let me help?"

Slowly, Sherlock turned and raised his eyes to meet John's. "I'm not ready, John. I don't think I can do this anymore."

John took the violin from Sherlock's hands and put it into the case carefully, then gently went to his knees.

"John. What -"

"I - I've been thinking about this for a long time. I know we haven't known each other that long, not even a year, but that doesn't really matter." He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a box. "I saw this one morning, in the window of that curiosity shop down the street, there was a tray of rings, and this one - I don't know - it stopped me, so I went in, and I asked to see it. The owner nodded. He told me this belonged to a woman that he had known for most of his life, her husband had gone to war, and didn't come back, he had left it for her, in case he didn't make it. Finally one day she brought it to him, and wanted to sell it, she didn't need it anymore, she told him, she hadn't really ever needed it, because she had always known he was with her. So, he paid her more than what it was worth, and he put it in the window, but didn't think he'd ever sell it, because he wasn't sure he'd find the person he could tell the story to. I bought this the first time I went to the shops on my own."

"But -"

"Months ago. I knew, Sherlock, hell, I knew the minute you walked into my hospital room. I knew the first time I heard your voice."

"John."

"Is that a yes?"

Sherlock laughed as he fell to his knees. "You haven't asked the question, yet..."

John rolled his eyes, but cleared his throat, and looked into Sherlock's glittering eyes. "Sherlock Holmes, will you marry me?"

Sherlock nodded, and John took the ring out of the box and slid it onto Sherlock's finger. "Yes. John Watson," Sherlock whispered hoarsely. "I will marry you."

John grinned at him and kissed him softly. "Promise?"

"I promise."

 

1 May 2010

Sorry I've been a bit absent the last couple of weeks, but we have been a bit busy. Planning a small, 'simple' wedding isn't as small or as simple as one would think, but a week ago, we did manage to get hitched. Today was the first time I've been able to get on the internet, it's a bit sketchy where we are, and well - never mind, let's just say we've been pre-occupied.

And a note to the criminal classes, please give us a break until the jet lag wears off before creating havoc? Thank you kindly.

 

Sherlock sighed as John hit publish. "You know - I wonder how wise it is -"

"What?"

"To let people know that we're married."

John turned over to look at him for a moment before responding. "You're worried -." 

Sherlock rolled his eyes and pushed a bit of fringe from John's eyes. "I'm not concerned what people think about us, I am worried that someone might use our relationship somehow, against me, or you, and -"

"I won't let that happen."

"John."

"I'm not going to hide our relationship out of fear."

"John. It's just that, if someone ever threatened you, to get to me, it would work. You know that, don't you? There is very little I wouldn't do to keep you safe."

John sat up and looked down at his husband of a week, and knew he was serious. "Sherlock, understand me, right now - when I made vows to you a week ago, I promised to love you, honour and respect you, and to stay by your side, for the rest of my life, and that is what I intend to do. Promise me, Sherlock, that no matter what happens, you will let me do that. Stay with you, no matter what, my place is with you. Promise me. I'll know - promise me, Sherlock." John moved so he was straddling Sherlock, their fingers became entwined and he whispered once more, "promise me, Sherlock; you said, 'it's the two of us against the world,' I'm no good without you, prom -"

"I promise, John. I promise."

 

"Awwww, how sweet.... John... you have no idea the havoc I can create... hmmmm..." 

"Sebastian... "

"Hmmm?"

"I don't think we'll wait, it's time to begin... after all, we didn't give the happy couple a wedding present..."

Sebastian yawned and rolled over to look at the clock. "Now?"

"Now... well, at least in the next few hours.... the games will begin."


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes, onto the Great Game, and again, it will be very different than Mofftiss canon, but you know me - I never kill off the boys, at least not for longer than a minute...

"John."

"Hmmmph?"

"John, wake up." Sherlock blew in his ear and he opened his eyes and sat up.

"I'm up, I'm up! Why are you up and dressed like - something happened."

"The building across from ours, blew up a couple of nights ago."

"What? Is anyone hurt?" John got out of bed and started dressing.

"No, Building has been abandoned for a while now, our windows were blown out -"

"Mrs. H?"

"She's fine, she was still at her sister's. A little damage to Speedy's. Thing is, Lestrade just called -"

John gave him a look, and Sherlock rolled his eyes at him. "I gave him the number just in case, I knew we were going to be out of touch, so - they had thought it was a gas leak that caused it. It wasn't. It was made to look like a gas leak."

"So, it was done -"

"To get my attention, our attention."

John stopped putting on his socks and looked up at him. "You were right. Shit. I'm sorry -"

"No, I have the feeling he has been waiting for an opportunity; it's been too quiet lately, since the Black Lotus case - I think he has been planning something for a long time."

"Since the cabbie case?" John stifled a yawn and began to pack.

"No, since Carl Powers."

John stopped again and shook his head. "That's -"

"A long time to plan something. John. Look at me."

John sighed, but he glanced up at him and couldn't help but return his smile. "You still don't quite believe how much I love you." John shrugged, then looked away. "I wish we could stay here, too, you don't know how much I wish I could forget about everything else, and let the world go to blazes, but it's time to go home."

"I know. Still..."

"I think he considers it a wedding present." Sherlock walked over to John and smiled again as he took John's face in his hands, gazed into his eyes and kissed him soundly. "Husband..."

"Say it again..."

"Husband. You are mine, John Watson."

"Just the two of us..."

"Against the rest of the world."

 

"Damn. If she was pissed off about the paint -" John muttered as he fell into his chair and glared at the plywood that filled in for their windows for the time being. 

"We'll get the windows replaced before she gets back. I told her to stay at her sister's a bit longer." Sherlock looked down at his phone and sighed. "Lestrade wants to see us."

"Now?"

Sherlock kissed his hair and mumbled, "we'll pick up some coffee on the way there?"

 

"Boys! Welcome back - sorry, I wish it could have waited, but, they found this in a strong box while they were looking for the cause of the blast. Addressed to you, Sherlock. No prints of course -"

"Of course." Sherlock rolled his eyes, but took the offered gloves before he picked up the envelope. "Woman's handwriting. Perfume, unusual, can't place it, but -" He slit open the envelope and shook out a phone and five orange pips.

"What the -" Lestrade looked at the dried orange seeds, then at Sherlock's face.

"It's a warning." He sat down hard in the chair across from Lestrade. "Secret societies used to send pips to enemies, especially in the States after the Civil War - it told whomever received this that their days were numbered. I think in this case, it's a 'friendly' warning that we should expect five more -"

"Five more?"

"Five more bombs, Lestrade." They all jumped as the phone pinged. Sherlock looked at the screen and muttered, "trainers... I know this room... damn. Come on, back to Baker Street. Now!"


	37. Chapter 37

"She showed me this flat when I first looked at 221B. I actually considered it for a moment - interesting molds..." Sherlock took out his key ring and flipped to an old padlock key, then unlocked the padlock, took it off and pushed the door open. "Trainers. Size 10, man sized trainers, but they didn't belong to a man." Sherlock walked around the pair of white British Knights in the center of the room, then walked the opposite direction, and squatted next to them. "They belonged to a boy, a champion swimmer, who died of 'natural causes,'" he said with a snort.

"Carl Powers." Lestrade muttered under his breath as the phone rang.

Sherlock jumped back a bit, then pulled the phone from his pocket. "Yes."

"Very good. You just might be as smart as you think, but then, I did make this one easy for you on purpose. I do apologise for the abrupt ending of your honeymoon. Congrats by the way." Sherlock shook his head. 

"Who is this?"

"It's not important at this time." The voice stammered, and they could all hear the fear behind the words. "You have six hours to tell me exactly what killed Carl Powers." The call ended and Sherlock swore. 

"I need to go to the lab." John handed him a pair of gloves, and he drew them on, then picked up the trainers. He turned and found John in his way. 

"John."

"We need to go to the lab."

Sherlock took a breath and nodded, then left the flat.

"We're gonna need food soon." John mumbled at Lestrade, and followed behind.

Lestrade nodded, looked around the room, then sighed and walked out, locking the door behind him. "Donovan. Yeah, we need a forensics team to 221C Baker Street. Yeah. I'm sure there won't be anything, but we need to get this guy. No, I want you and Dimmock on this. Doesn't matter what else you are working on. This looks bad, sounds like we got a hostage situation, and Sherlock is on the clock. Yeah. No, I'm not kidding. No press on this one. We gotta get this guy, Sally."

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes as his own phone rang. "What?"

"Bad day, brother mine?"

"Don't have time for chit-chat, Myc. What is it?"

"I have a case for you."

"Can't."

"Sherlock."

"It's the Carl Powers case."

Mycroft nearly dropped his phone, but somehow managed to keep his voice level. "The trainers."

"Yeah. After nearly twenty years. He's giving me six hours to determine how, and I have to be the one to solve it, Myc, or someone will be blown up. Do you understand? Somehow he got into 221C. Mrs. Hudson and I have the only keys, she isn't in town -"

"And you've been -"

"Right. So someone has been in Baker Street without my knowledge."

"I'll put surveillance back up."

"Now."

"Sherlock -"

"John is with me."

"Good."

"Glad your date went well." John stared at him, and Sherlock shrugged as he ended the call and closed his eyes as he leaned against John's shoulder. "Just slipped out."

"How - " Mycroft looked up as Anthea entered his office and rolled his eyes. "I'll send someone over now." But he knew Sherlock had ended the call already.

 

"You need to eat."

Sherlock shook his head. "He loved these shoes, laces replaced, once, twice, no... three times. He kept them in perfect nick. He touched them up when they got scuffed... what... John, I need you to find press clippings - call someone at the Met, have them bring over anything they have - but I think he had eczema... if I'm lucky - there must still be trace left if I'm supposed to solve this, they know I - damnit." He watched as John ended the call. 

"They will do what they can, it's -"

"an old case, the press clippings will be in the archives a good ten minute drive through London traffic, he knows it's not on the computer yet, they won't start on 1991 til next year... No. You will stay here. He knows, how I work. I have to -"

John laid a gentle hand on Sherlock's Sherlock's shoulder. "Stop. You have to breathe. Look at me. Treat this like any other case, Sherlock. Look.at.me." Sherlock turned and met John's eyes. "You can do this, in your sleep. Breathe. Now. If he had eczema, they probably used a steroid cream -"

"You're brilliant, John." Sherlock kissed him, and went to work on the trainers. An hour later, Molly walked in a with a delivery person. "She's here with your lunch, I guess Greg ordered you something?"

John nodded, "Just put it over there - thanks."

"Is that really Sherlock Holmes?"

"Yeah, listen, we're really busy -"

"Oooh... a new case? Right, I'll leave you to it, then. I'm just a huge fan, of yours too, you are John Watson - you have that blog, right?"

John looked up and nodded. "Yeah - how -"

"I'm JackieO. Listen, you really helped me out, that advice you gave me, a while back - " She put her hand out and he took it gently.

"Right. Excellent. Good."

"You probably don't remember -"

"No, I do - you were having problems with people hovering -" He looked down and saw her prosthetic leg. "IED?"

"Yeah. Ironic, as I shoulda known somehow, I worked for a construction company before I joined up, explosives, you know - just a bad day, but you had those, didn't ya, Cap'?"

"Yeah, listen, I'd love to talk to you more - once a week I meet with a small group, Wednesday nights - if you can make it, sometimes it helps..."

"Thanks, Cap'. I'll see if I can change my schedule around. Good luck to him on whatever he's doing -"

"Poison!" Sherlock banged his hand on the table.

"Looks like he's figured it out, hmm?"

"Here, thank you -" John pulled out his wallet and offered her a few pounds for her tip.

"Oh, no, Cap' - I couldn't."

"Please."

"Right." She took the tip then nodded at him, and began to leave the lab. "See ya round, Cap'."

"Clostridium botulinum!"

"Botulism?"

"He would have put it in the cream. He knew him well enough to know... it was another kid, John. Or a coach. But, I think it -"

"A kid. So, he would now be about our age..."

"We need to check the annuals. I can't remember what school he went to, it would be in the articles... What's this?" Sherlock pointed at the bag of food.

"You just missed her."

"Huh?"

"Delivery person, she's one of the people who reads the blog. Anyway - I had told Greg we'd need some food..."

"You haven't eaten any?" Sherlock looked inside the bag and sniffed at it.

"No, why?" John closed his eyes and pulled out his phone. "Yeah, Greg, did you order us food? No? Listen, don't worry about it - yeah, we'll just get something from the cafeteria. Yeah, I know, we're gettin' a bit peckish, no - I know - right. Can you get someone to the archives and pull up the old press stuff from the Powers case? Right. Thanks."

"What did she look like, John?"

"Well, she wore a cap over her hair, I think it was dark - I don't honestly know - but she had a prosthetic, IED, she said -"

Sherlock sighed. "She's long gone. We'll bag up the food - have them see if there are any fingerprints, and then get it tested -"

"Sherlock - aren't you -"

"What? Paranoid? Don't you think I should be? He, she or they got into our building, John. Without my knowledge, before we left for our honeymoon. Or they got the key from Mrs. Hudson. The woman sleeps with her keys. John. I don't think they'd kill us yet, it defeats the purpose of their little 'game', but they might make one of us or both of us sick, just enough to put us out of commission, just to make it more interesting. He knew I'd know the trainers. He knew it wouldn't take me six hours - I need a laptop. Molly?"

Molly brought over her laptop and Sherlock opened his blog, and started typing.

To Whom it May Concern: Clostridium botulinum.

He hit publish and the phone rang.

"Very good. Even quicker than I thought - next one won't be so easy." Suddenly the voice changed, and she whispered, "Please come and get me?"

"Tell us where you are, and we'll send someone to you."

 

"I knew he'd hit that one out of the park. He's probably kicking himself for not knowing all these years..."

"He's better than you give him credit for." Sebastian shook his head.

"Are you saying he's smarter than me?"

"No. Of course not, just - you're going to have to make it harder for him, if you want it be a challenge, that's all I'm saying. At least you've got him paranoid already..."

"You liked that bit?"

"Brilliant."

"Shall we order in tonight, or go out?"

"Hmmm..."

"In it is..."


	38. Chapter 38

"Sherlock?" John yawned, then stretched and got up from his chair. "You never ate today."

"Not hungry."

John watched him pace in front of the wall, stop, turn and glare at something, shake his head and resume his pacing. "Stop."

"I can't. If I can figure out who he is -"

"Don't you think he knows this is what you are doing?" John asked quietly.

"What -"

"I'm guessing he, or his people put their own surveillance in here at some point, even if he didn't, he knows you are waiting for his next move, so you think you'll get a jump on him, by spending your time focusing on him, instead of resting or eating - he's winning, Sherlock. He already made us come home early from our honeymoon. And now, he's got you on pins and needles waiting for his next call..."

"What do you suggest we do?"

"Go out."

"Go out?" Sherlock looked at John as if he had suddenly grown two additional heads.

"The press doesn't know about this case yet - this case wasn't a case - it was personal between him and you. This was a gift - he wanted to hook you, and he did, and now -"

"He's going to play me - damn, John. I'm an idiot."

"No, you were smart enough to marry me. We are going to jump in the shower, then get dressed, and go to a place where we will be seen, and make sure he knows we aren't playing his game. He may think that he knows you. but he doesn't know me, or us. And then, when we have been seen, we will come back home, and, make up for the time we lost when we were so rudely interrupted."

Sherlock bit his lip, then gazed into John's smiling face and shook his head. "Are you sure you really want to go out - " John kissed his last words away, then took him by both hands, leading him into the bathroom where he turned on the shower, and closed the curtain but didn't undress, but took Sherlock by the hands once more and led him to their bedroom, and silently began to undress his husband. Finally Sherlock understood and nodded, then undressed John, whispering, "genius," as they collapsed into their bed, completely exhausted. John kissed Sherlock's curls as he fell asleep, waited ten minutes, then crept quietly into the bathroom and turned the shower off, knowing he wasn't foolimg anyone, but he'd managed to get Sherlock to sleep, even if he hadn't eaten since that unfortunate rushed sandwich on the train far too early this morning.

 

Clever. - M

Good night, Mycroft. - J

John. - M

 

"Yeah?"

"Morning, Sherlock, sorry to call so early, just got your next one - we recorded it - it's an image of an abandoned Mazda RX - 8."

"How long?"

"What?"

"How much time did he give me?" Sherlock nearly growled in frustration.

"Oh, sorry. Eight hours... hold on a minute - Donovan says they found it, no body so far."

"What the - text John the location, we'll be there as soon as we can."

"Got it."

Sherlock yawned and closed his eyes. John had baked this morning. Coffee and cinnamon rolls. Which meant he hadn't slept much. Damn. Shower, then...

"Morning -" John walked into theit bedroom and kissed him lightly.

"John -"

"Don't lecture me, I can nap in the lab or wherever you are - you are the one who needed to sleep, I'm just along for the ride."

Sherlock shook his head. "No. Don't. I can't do this without you. I need you, John. You see things, that I miss sometimes, you think differently, and it makes me understand in a way I didn't before, you are necessary, John, not just because I love you -"

John's phone vibrated on his bedside table. 

"It's an address?"

"Our next case, abandoned car, Donovan says there's no body. We have less than eight hours now. It's a ten minute walk from here. Shower - "

"Breakfast, then shower."

Sherlock rolled his eyes at him, then pulled him into his arms. "You are so necessary, John."

 

"What are they doing?" 

"Besides being sickeningly sweet? They know you are listening and watching, obviously. This may not be as easy as you thought."

"Just wait, Seb. It's early days, yet."

"What is the point to all of this?"

"No point, I just want to watch them dance."


	39. Chapter 39

"Morning, Dimmock."

"John."

"So, no body."

"Nope. Just a lotta blood." Dimmock shrugged and peeled off his gloves, shoving them in his pocket.

"Something bothering you?"

"Feels staged."

John nodded and turned to see Sherlock speaking to a woman he hadn't seen before.

"Who is Sherlock with?"

"Well, we don't have a body, but we know who leased the car, found the paperwork in the glove compartment. We called at the house, and she, a, 'Mrs. Ian Monkford,' answered, we told her we found a car hired by her husband, but we didn't find him, and she wanted to, no, demanded to see where we discovered the car... just weird. You'd think a spouse would want to believe their husband or wife was alive until they had proof otherwise. Not this one -"

"She's trying to convince me he's dead," Sherlock muttered as he approached them. "I referred to him in the past tense and she didn't correct me. Car?"

"This way -" Dimmock led them to the car and watched as Sherlock leaned in, and opened the glove compartment.

"Janus Cars..." Sherlock murmured at the business card in his hand. "God of doorways, and beginnings... two-faced. Did you get a blood sample sent over to Molly?"

"Yeah. What are you thinking, Sherlock?"

"Same as you, staged. Think you'll find the blood on the seat is a pint, at some point, Ian Monkford gave blood, someone got their hands on it - I have to test the sample, but though it's dangerous to theorize before one has all the data -"

"It's been frozen and thawed out." Dimmock finished. "Sorry - it just didn't feel right -"

Sherlock grinned at him. "I'm done with the car; John, we need to go to Janus Cars, see if we can determine where Mr. Monkford actually is at the moment."

John nodded and handed Dimmock a paper bag. "Figured you missed breakfast, best when they are still fresh."

Dimmock opened the bag and took a deep breath in. "Wow, cinnamon rolls- you bake too?"

Sherlock laughed as he grabbed John's hand and turned them towards the road. "Yeah, John bakes when I'm stressed out. I'll text you with the results of the test when I get them."

 

"How can I help you gentlemen?"

"Ian Monkford, he hired a car from you, yesterday?"

"Right, a lovely Mazda RX - 8..."

"Regular customer?"

"Hmm? Nah, never seen him before - what, somethin' happen?"

"No worries, your car is fine, might need a bit of cleaning - you've been away on holiday?"

"Hmm? Oh, the tan - no, sunbed, can't get away, you know how it is -" The owner scratched absentmindedly at his arm.

"Ah, right, listen, you have a soda machine out there, and I am just dying for a drink, and I don't have any small change, can you help me out?"

The owner pulled out his wallet and looked through it. "Nope, just went to the bank this morning, sorry -"

Sherlock shrugged at him, "Thanks, anyway, sorry to take up your time, Mr. Ewert. John?"

"What was that all about? You loathe soda."

"Needed to see what was in his wallet."

"His wallet?"

"Mr. Ewert, of Janus cars, is a liar."

John looked at his phone. "Damn, it's nearly time for group."

Sherlock glanced over at him. "Are you sure you -"

"You're going to test the blood sample in the lab, it will take you a while - anyway, I'll just be a couple floors above you, and I'm hoping JackieO shows up -"

"John -"

"There were no decent fingerprints on the bag of take away, and the food tested negative, remember. I think you jumped to conclusions, understandable, but, I'm curious about her - and I wanted to talk to Dr. Lincoln. Sherlock. You aren't jealous are you?"

Sherlock crossed his arms. "Jealous? Me?"

"You are -" John grinned at him.

"Am not."

"Sherlock. Sam, tell the man he's being an idiot."

Sam shook his head. "Dr. John, been married long enough to know not to put my nose in somebody else's business, especially newlyweds, like yerselves..." He turned around after he parked at the morgue entrance and saw the look on Sherlock's face. "Yer an idiot. If you think Doc here is gonna chase a bit of skirt, yer not as smart as I thought ya to be - now, go on with you."

John laughed and jumped out of the cab, pulling Sherlock behind him. "I'll come down when I'm finished, yeah?"

Sherlock nodded and started to walk away towards the morgue entrance, then turned back and drew John into his arms, kissing him until they were both breathless. "I just - I get scared sometimes, John. That I - that you, you'll change your mind about me."

John shook his head and leaned into Sherlock's chest. "Never, love." They took a breath together and John squeezed his hand. "I am yours. I'll just be a couple floors up, go do your work, and then we can finish this one up and go home, and I'll prove how much I love you."

"Promise?"

"Promise." John watched Sherlock bound through the door and blew him a kiss as he turned back to wave at him. "Ridiculous -"

"What is?" 

"Oh, Jackie! I wasn't sure you'd show up - we're just in time."

"What's ridiculous?"

"Hmmm, just -"

"You really love him, don't you?"

"Is it that obvious?" John grinned.

Jackie rolled her eyes. "Just a bit. If you two were any cuter, I'm sure you'd be breaking some law."

"That bad?"

"Yeah. Don't worry, it's nice, to see two people in love, not much of that around these days."

John studied her face for a moment and she looked away. "We're nearly late, Cap'."

"Right, let's go."

 

Sherlock grinned at the results. The blood had been frozen, so the case was all but finished, he turned to open Molly's laptop when the lab phone rang.

 

"Yes?"

"Clue is in the name."

"Janus Cars."

"Two-faced. Can't always trust what's in front of you -"

"Why are you helping me?" Sherlock hissed.

"Frankly because I'm bored, and I wanted to talk to you -"

"Then use your own voice, stop hiding and face me."

"Soon, Sherlock, soon." Sherlock banged the receiver down hard and posted a new one sentence entry on his blog: 

 

Ian Monkford is alive and well in Colombia.

 

Two minutes later his phone buzzed. "Yeah?"

"Sherlock, we're going to pick him up. Nicely done."

"Dimmock figured it out too, Donovan, take him out to dinner on me."

"Sherlock, you okay?"

"Yeah, Sally, I'm fine."

 

Dr. Lincoln looked up as John knocked on her open door.

"John."

"Hey."

"Saw you had ten today, good group?"

"Yeah. I'm curious - I know - the new woman, Jackie - is there anyway I can see her records?"

"John."

"It's just, I thought if I knew when and where she was in Afghanistan, I just feel like - I know her, but -"

"You know I can't do that."

"Yeah, that's what I thought -"

"You and Sherlock - I saw that you two got married, pretty fast don't you think?"

"Doc."

"You do look happy - not sleeping much, though."

"Case. Crazy one - keeping us busy, and I'm worried."

"That Sherlock might fall off the wagon?"

"No, he might try to go off on his own - he promised he wouldn't..." John looked at his watch and jumped up. "Bollocks! I gotta go, see you next week."

"Right." Dr. Lincoln laughed. "Go!"

"Thanks!"

Dr. Lincoln thought for a moment, then shook her head and searched her computer files for an hour, finding nothing. "Strange..."

 

"Sherlock?"

"John? What is it?"

"I - is it finished?"

Sherlock nodded. "Two down, three to go. He called, well, the hostage called, and used his words. He gave me a hint. Janus. Why, John? He's taunting me, there has to be something I'm not seeing - something bigger." He looked up at John and shrugged. "I can't think anymore, John. Take me home?"

"Yeah, love, let's go home."


	40. Chapter 40

Mycroft sat at his desk and looked at the image again. It could be her. But, it shouldn't be. She was dead, at least legally, she was dead. But there was someone her age, her build, and her unmistakable eyes; one brown, no, it was more golden, the other blue, looking up at the camera as she spoke to John, as if taunting him, testing his resolve. He looked at her redacted file and paused for a moment before putting it through the shredder.

 

John put a plate of toast in front of Sherlock, then poured him a mug of tea, and sat in front of him, as he watched Sherlock drop cube after cube of sugar into the mug. They both seemed to be mesmerised by the tea swirling as he stirred the sugar in. "John."

"Hmm."

"What if I'm just not good enough?"

"Sherlock."

"These first two, they were easy. It isn't costing him anything. It seems like he's giving me a trail of bread crumbs to follow - he's - what if he starts giving up things that will hurt him - monetarily or otherwise - it will start to get dangerous. Right now, it's just creepy and I jump every time my phone rings, and I'm afraid to eat take-away..." He lifted the mug to his lips and closed his eyes as he took a sip, then put it down. "Will you just come to bed with me? I just - I don't even know what I want right now, I just -"

John nodded, then got up from the table and walked over to Sherlock. "Come on, love." He offered Sherlock his hand and watched Sherlock slowly get to his feet. John knew there were words he could say, but they wouldn't be what Sherlock needed right now.

 

Dimmock knocked on Lestrade's door and waited until the familiar 'Come' rang out.

"Sir, I - uhm, I've been doing some research -"

"Yeah?"

"About the Carl Powers case, like who might have wanted, I don't know, someone who didn't like him?"

Lestrade drew in a deep breath and nodded.

"Well, he was a pretty popular kid, no one I talked to had anything bad to say about him - but he did tend to play practical jokes on his classmates..."

"Class clown, then?" Lestrade got up from his chair and started looking at what little evidence they had on the case.

"Kinda, he was serious about the swimming, and a pretty good student, just liked to have fun at people's expense. Usually it was harmless. But one time -"

Lestrade turned and looked at him. "He went too far."

"Yeah. Switched out a kid's shampoo, with something the kid was allergic to. Of course Powers had no clue, but the kid almost died, anaphylactic shock, luckily the school nurse had something on hand. The Powers kid was suspended, for a couple of days, and the other kid switched schools... thing is, his twin sister -"

"You've got to be kidding me. Twins?" Lestrade dropped into his chair and ran his hands through his hair. "Go on."

"She stayed at the school where Powers went, maybe, it's not the boy we're looking for -"

"But the sister?"

"I don't know, maybe. Thing is, they both seem to have, well, disappeared."

"Dis-a-ppeared?" Lestrade groaned.

"They have a record trail up until they both enlist in the military, both served in Afghanistan, according to what I could find, the sister, Janine, died of wounds caused by a roadside bomb. She saved a bunch of her guys, but she didn't make it. Her brother, Jim, got an honourable discharge, then went off the radar."

"Last name?"

"In their school records, they were Mahoneys, but I dug a bit more, and their mum was a Moriarty by birth."

"Bloody hell."

"Do we know for certain that Janine is dead?"

"That's what the records say, but... you are going to hate this."

Lestrade rolled his eyes. "Tell me anyway."

"The plane that was supposed to bring back her remains, and those of three others, were on a transport that crashed on takeoff."

"It just keeps getting better."

"Yeah. Sorry, Sir."

"No, this is great work, Dimmock. I have the feeling this is who we are looking for. I think I know someone who might be able to clear it up for us."

 

"Gregory."

"Sorry for dropping by unannounced like this, but I think I've got people for the Powers case."

"People?"

"Seems the Powers kid nearly killed a kid with a practical joke, not knowing of an allergy - kid's name was Jim Mahoney -"

"Sister was Janine."

"You know, you knew... Myc."

"I - when I first started, I was an analyst. I kept an eye out for exceptional young people. As you can imagine, not all agents are good people, some tend to be without consciences, and those bright enough to be able to fake being normal, and who are, let us say, exceptionally skilled with weapons, explosives... and also gifted at becoming other people seamlessly -"

"Myc."

"I honestly didn't know about their connection to the Powers case until it was too late. They were brilliant leaders, in the hierarchy of the military, there were safeguards, they played by the rules, and rose quickly through the ranks. Janine, was seriously injured, in a roadside explosion -"

"Not killed."

"No, not killed - we were able to save her, and once she was healthy enough, we put her to work as an analyst, then one day -"

"Don't tell me." Lestrade sighed as he dropped into the chair across from Mycroft.

"She disappeared, and had not resurfaced, until this week."

"Please tell me you're joking."

"No, I wish I were. And she has made contact with John Watson, posing as a member of a group session he leads once a week at Bart's. Could be she truly suffers from PTSD, with the injuries she had, so I'm not sure how much of it is acting, but she is dangerous, Gregory, and I -"

"You've decided not to tell them."

"That was my first inclination, but considering your PC Dimmock was the one who found them, I'm sure it's only a matter of time before Sherlock and John make the same discovery. I know, from my surveillance that Sherlock is having a rare moment of self-doubt, so it's not the best day to tell them, but, if you aren't otherwise busy for the next hour or so -"

Lestrade got to his feet and walked over to the door. "Let's go, Myc; time to face the music."


	41. Chapter 41

John sat Sherlock on the edge of their bed and knelt in front of him, removing his shoes, then helped him to stretch out on the bed, kicked off his own shoes and laid next to him. Sherlock closed his eyes and reached for John's hand, then let out the breath he was holding. "There's something I should see, but I don't have enough data, there has to be a reason, some logical -" They both swore as John's phone buzzed, once, then twice.

"Yeah. Dr. Lincoln?"

John sat up and looked at Sherlock. "Right. Give us ten minutes. Thanks."

"I think you're about to get some more data."

 

"You asked about 'Jackie' earlier today, after group."

John nodded, and Sherlock watched him carefully.

"I had records for her -"

"Had?" Sherlock asked quietly.

Dr. Lincoln sighed. "She served at the same time you did, it's possible you may have even met her, which is why she seems familiar to you -"

"And..."

Dr. Lincoln's phone rang, and she swore under her breath as she picked it up. "Yes? Alright. I'll be there in a minute."

"Sorry, I'll be right back. Paperwork - just give me five minutes, okay?"

They nodded and she left the room.

"You recognised Jackie?" Sherlock asked John quietly.

"Not as someone I'd spoken to really, but there was something. Her eyes. She had one gold eye, it wasn't brown, but like amber, and the other was blue - that's - and I knew..."

Sherlock rolled his eyes as one of his phones went off. An image of a woman appeared on the screen, and Sherlock snorted. "She has one of those make-over shows... I used to watch in rehab - wait. When I was in the lab, Molly had to go down to the morgue and - she had a make-over show."

"Sherlock?" John looked over at him as Sherlock's phone buzzed three times before he answered.

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry these little puzzles have been so easy for you, Sherlock, this one may g - give you a bit of trouble, as your pathologist, experienced as she is -"

"You leave Molly out of this!" Sherlock hissed.

"Another friend?" The voice trembled a bit. "Molly didn't quite g - get the cause of death correct, but then she wasn't meant to. As the body is just a couple floors below you, I'll g - give you just four hours this time. Off you g - go."

Sherlock looked up at John. "You stay, I'll go down and -"

"No. I'm sure whatever it is she has to tell me can wait, and I might be able to see whatever it is that Molly somehow missed."

Sherlock shrugged and was still for a moment.

"What is it?"

"The stammer, the voice on the phone..." Sherlock shook his head and got to his feet. "I'm sure it will come to me - let's get this done, hmm?"

 

"Sherlock? What's wrong?" Molly asked as she looked up at their entrance.

"Connie Prince."

"Yeah, sad case, so young, seems she got a scratch, her brother said it was from a rusty nail, from her garden, it became infected and she died of tetanus. Strange, just not something you see these days. Brother was badly broken up -"

"Really?" Sherlock muttered thoughtfully. "From what I remember, she was a bit of a bully on the show.. is she still here?"

"Yeah, the mortuary is going to pick her up tomorrow... is this part of the -"

Sherlock nodded.

"You think it wasn't an accident - bloody hell, I just - come on." She walked over to the drawers and slid out the one that held Connie Prince's remains, and pulled down the sheet.

John picked up one hand, then the other. "Wound is too clean - it takes 8 - 10 days to incubate - there are scratches on her arms, look to be made by a cat, not that deep -"

Sherlock pulled out his magnifier and examined her forehead, then stepped back with a frown. "No... but - it's too simple, John. He used it to kill Carl Powers and now nearly twenty years later - a botox injection? It's just -"

"A game, Sherlock, what if there isn't a grand purpose to all of this? Maybe he just wants to move us around like chess pieces for his own amusement -"

"But, why? It's -"

"We have three and a half hours, to discover who did it -"

"It was probably her brother, or Raoul -"

"Raoul?"

"Their manservant, would sometimes - wait, I read something -" Sherlock flipped through his phone for a few minutes until he found it. "Sometimes the tabloids get it right, John. About a year ago, Connie and her brother nearly ended the show, her brother had finally stood up to her in front of an audience, and she had laughed it off - but, according to this was furious backstage afterwards, and would have dropped him, but they had just reworked his contract and she couldn't legally break it, so they patched things up. Come on, John, we have to go visit the 'broken up' brother... don't worry, Molly, you were meant to ignore this one." He stopped and looked at her. "Do me a favour, just for today, go home early?"

"Why?"

"Just - go hang out with the girls, I would just feel better -"

"Sherlock."

"This will be over soon. I promise." Sherlock kissed her forehead, grabbed John's hand and they flew out of the morgue.

 

"Moll?" Lestrade whispered, half an hour later. "Have you seen Sherlock and John?"

"They were just here a little while ago -"

"Why?"

"They wanted to see Connie Prince's body - and he asked me to go home early today -"

"Did he say why?"

"No, he just seemed worried -"

"Do you know -"

"I got it wrong."

"What?"

"Cause of death for Connie Prince. I basically bought the tetanus story - I was thinking about Julie's match tonight and I need to help Lila with her project - it was something in the botox injection, Sherlock thinks..."

"Where did they go?"

"Hmm?"

"Sherlock and John?"

"They went to interview Connie Prince's brother, they have less than three hours to determine if it was her brother or Raoul... I'm going to go home, I think."

"Moll?"

"I'm fine, Greg. Sorry, just haven't seen Sherlock so -? He's actually annoyed by a case this time, never seen that before. He thinks there's something else going on..." She looked at his face. "There is, isn't there? You know something, and Sherlock doesn't, for once."

"I wish you were wrong, love. He's right, go home, be with the girls -"

"You'll tell me everything later."

"Course I will, always have, yeah?"

"See you at home, not too late, I hope."

"Yeah, me too, love, me too." He kissed her once, and smiled down at her, then left the lab.

"Missed them by about half an hour, I guess. They went to see Connie Prince's brother - they have less than three hours to determine who murdered her."

For once Mycroft looked uncertain about what to do next. 

"We know where this is heading -"

"The pool."

"This thing has always been about Sherlock, and now it seems connected to John, with Janine's reappearance..." Lestrade sighed and pulled out his phone.

 

"Donovan. I need you and Dimmock to get a team together and go to the pool, try to get situated so you have eyes everywhere, take a small unit, make sure they are good shots - yeah, in the next few hours, I'm hoping this thing will be over one way or another. Yeah, me too."

 

"The voice, John. The stammer - it's Sebastian."

"What? Are you sure?"

Sherlock nodded slowly. "Whenever he was nervous, always on the letter g. He wasn't reading, Moriarty let him ad lib. I knew he was in deeper when he called us in - he's - it doesn't matter if I solve this one in time, John. If Moriarty is using him for this -"

"Sherlock - you couldn't have known. Maybe -"

"He wants me to know there's nothing I can do to help him, if I post it - he will - make me listen, John. He thinks it matters to me, what happens to Sebastian."

John looked at him and took a breath. "Does it?"

"Of course it does, he's a human being, not a very good one, but - John. What if they are at the pool? Maybe... if we go to the pool we still have two hours left." They watched as a uniformed man pushed Raoul de Santos was pushed into the back of a panda.

"I'll call Lestrade."

"John -"

"We need back up, Sherlock - from the little we know about him, I'm assuming he won't be alone."

Sherlock shrugged, but after a moment, he nodded, then turned away to hail a cab.

 

"Lestrade. Yeah, we are heading to the pool -"

"John, wait -"

"We are going to need a little back up, I think on this one - could get messy -"

"John-"

"There's our cab, damn, my battery's getting low too -"

"Bloody hell!" Lestrade threw his phone against the wall just barely missing Mycroft's head. "Sorry - no. I'm not sorry. All this fucking time, Myc -"

"I couldn't - it wasn't -"

"If you say 'in the best interest of the Crown' one more bloody time, I will shoot you myself. Are we clear?"

"Crystal."

"Come on."

"What -"

"You are coming along, Myc. For once, your brother has to clean up one of your messes, and he isn't going to do it on his own."


	42. Chapter 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a bit of warning - there is violence at the end of the chapter. The boys are fine, and not involved. But for those who aren't fans, this pool scene is very non-canon.

Donovan watched from her perch above the pool, Dimmock across from her, trying not to appear nervous, but his left foot couldn't keep still. Suddenly one voice, almost light, nearly friendly, but not came floating up, followed by another, frightened, yet trying to be just as casual as the other. Donovan didn't recognize the first man, but the other - it was Sebastian, from the bank. She hadn't been impressed, but was left with the thought that he had known more than he was telling her. It was clear by their body language that they had some kind of relationship. How they moved together. The unknown man perched on one of the benches and patted the place next to him, and Sebastian moved uncertainly towards it.

"Go ahead, it's time."

Sebastian nodded and took the phone from the other man. This must be Moriarty, Donovan mused.

"I'm sorry these little puzzles have been so easy for you, Sherlock, this one may g - give you a bit of trouble, as your pathologist, experienced as she is... Another friend? Molly didn't quite g - get the cause of death correct, but then she wasn't meant to. As the body is just a couple floors below you, I'll g - give you just four hours this time. Off you g - go."

"Shit..." Donovan said under her breath.

Sebastian gave Moriarty the phone back and they sat there in silence. "This is where it began..." Moriarty intoned.

"What did?"

"My career... my first murder, to be fair it wasn't my idea, my sister - my sister, was brilliant, kind to those she loved, would give you the shirt off her back, she was a bit of an exhibitionist -"

"Was?"

"She died in Afghanistan. Roadside bomb they said. Nonsense, I said. My sister knew bombs... but they showed me the paperwork - my twin, she was older than me by two minutes, she paved the way then as she does now. Revenge - she was my avenging angel. I tried to tell her he hadn't meant any harm, but she wouldn't listen. And her plan was astonishing, we were ten, and she already had a way of compartmentalizing, she could be planning a peer's murder one moment, and the next, writing a poem of such sweetness it could make you cry. Listen to me. I was speaking of revenge. My sister's - our murder of Carl Powers was perfect. No one gave it a second thought, it was a natural death, poor boy had a seizure, died doing what he loved best - but your friend -"

"He was never my friend." Sebastian's voice went up a bit higher, he was becoming uncertain, thought Donovan.

"No?" Moriarty got to his feet, and paced in front of Sebastian. "But he will come, friend or not, him and his pet. Once he figures out it was Raoul who killed Connie, because he hated her for abusing Kenny, humiliating him, and he wanted the money, he felt he had earned it - Sherlock will know it was you, you told him it was you, he would remember the stammer on the g, he never forgets anything. No, it's fine, don't worry. People like you always manage to survive, somehow. Relax, you seem tense." Moriarty moved to stand behind Sebastian and he laid his hands on his shoulders. "So tense, Sebastian, you weren't so tense this morning were you? No. We will wait. They will get here soon enough."

Donovan closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall, then looked over at Dimmock. He pointed at his phone. She shook her head. Any sound would be heard, even a text would take too long, they couldn't go outside without alerting Moriarty to their presence, perhaps he already knew, but was just waiting for someone to make a move. She shook her head again. They would wait.

 

"So, what, we are just going to walk in?" John asked as Sam pulled up to the aquatic center.

"It's what he wants." Sherlock shrugged.

"What does that matter?"

"I need to finish this, John." Sherlock put his hand on the door handle and paused.

"We need to finish this, Sherlock. You are not going in there alone." John pulled out his service revolver, returned to him not long ago by Donovan with a permit, given to few people, by people one was sure one didn't want to know too much about, checked it, even though he had already made sure it was fully loaded before they had left that morning. "Together, Sherlock, or not at all." Sherlock sighed and looked at him, then held John's face in his hands, more gently than he ever had before, and kissed him carefully, as if for the first time.

"Together."

 

Lestrade pulled up as they were about to make their way in to the building. Mycroft almost jumped out, but Lestrade held him back. "Donovan has a team in there - I'm not sure you want to be directly involved in this yet, Myc. I think distance for now, might help any story you might have to tell later. Stay here. I'll text you if I can - please, just stay. We'll need you for clean up."

"I'm a janitor."

Lestrade shrugged at him, then nodded. "Pretty much." He got out of the car and made his way over to the building.

 

"Ah. Didn't expect you quite so quickly." Moriarty stood up, and Sebastian followed the act, though he wasn't sure why exactly. Jim moved towards Sherlock and John, who had placed his piece in his jacket pocket, so he seemed perhaps a bit less dangerous than he felt at the moment. "Jim Moriarty."

Sherlock cracked a smile and snorted. "Sherlock Holmes."

"Yes. I know."

"So, you got us here, I'm still not quite sure why, you seem to know where to find me no matter where I am, we could have just met at Speedy's and chatted there."

"Ah. But Speedy's - Speedy's is not where both of our lives changed forever. For both of us became avenging angels because of events that happened nearly twenty years ago. Carl Powers was a bully. But most people didn't see that. He was taller, had power. I was smaller, smarter, but had no power. Until he tried to kill me. Yes, most people treated it as a practical joke that went too far. I knew better. At least my sister knew better. I, too, until that point had thought it was an accident. She convinced me otherwise. And so, she told me her plan, and once I was well enough, I carried it out before I left for another school. I wasn't even here when it happened, I didn't have to see it, but the moment it happened, I knew it. I finally had power for the first time in my life."

"You were a child." Sherlock snapped.

"So were you, when you knew something was wrong. No one else had any idea that it wasn't natural."

"The trainers. They should have been left behind. I looked at the photo of his locker - everything else was there, but his trainers..."

"Ah. My sister was there, she wanted it for a trophy, I suppose, but I was the one who doctored the cream for the eczema. And I guess she thought they might have examined them a bit too closely, if there had been any questions later."

"No," said a voice. "It was because I wanted them." Jackie/Janine walked into the room, and nodded at John, and at the gun he had taken out of his jacket. "Do you remember yet, Cap'?"

"You - were the last one. I was patching you up, I thought it was hopeless - you were bleeding out... and that's when I was shot in the leg."

"And you didn't notice, I was still conscious, you kept yelling something, and then -"

"Nothing. I don't remember anything after I was shot the second time."

Janine smiled at him. "This can't end well."

"No." John shook his head. 

"Especially with the cops around. I don't think both of us will be so lucky this time around. Don't look so surprised. They are up there watching, and waiting. Sherlock's brother... he's out there trying to decide how much he should or should not get involved, he's working out the scenarios of what could be going on in here, knowing most of the players as he does. Or thinks he does. No matter."

Jim had turned at his sister's voice, then stopped and stared. He was still staring, when she moved towards him. Or tried to.

"No."

"Jimmy."

"NO!!!" 

Before anyone else could move, Moriarty pulled a gun from the small of his back and fired at Janine, who slid to the tiled floor, then put the muzzle to his own head and pulled the trigger.


	43. Chapter 43

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and now some fluff...

There was a moment of the most absolute silence that Sherlock had ever experienced in his life, as if everyone and everything had suddenly just stopped, then rebooted, but faster. John had been next to him, then he was standing in front of him; now he was kneeling at Janine's side, trying to save her once again. There was something he should do, move or speak, but it seemed he was the only person who wasn't doing anything, and then Donovan was standing in front of him, saying, what exactly, he wasn't sure.

"Sherlock." She spoke quietly, but didn't try to touch him, she sensed he didn't want that yet - he hadn't thought her capable of such perception and stillness. He shook his head, and suddenly everything was at full speed again, and way too loud. He pressed his hands over his ears and tried not to flinch away from her as she led him to the bench and helped him to sit. "I'm going to get John to take you home. We saw everything, we won't need your statements today. Can I get you anything?"

"Just John." He somehow managed to make his voice work.

And then he was there.

"Let's go home, hmmm? Sherlock?" John whispered at his ear.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay with her?" Sherlock nodded at Janine who was being put on a stretcher.

"No. I want to, need to, be with you."

Sherlock finally let go of the breath he had been holding, and he felt John lift him, then half-way carry him to the waiting cab, and then home.

 

Janine blinked against the late morning light, then sensed she wasn't alone, and gingerly turned her head.

"Wasn't expecting you."

"No." Sherlock studied her face for a moment, but said nothing else.

"I'm sorry."

"What for? You probably saved us. Question I have is -"

"Why was I there?"

Sherlock nodded and offered her a cup with a straw, which she accepted. She laid a trembling hand over his and released a slow breath, more of a hiccup than anything else, then took a sip of water and nodded at him. She had been dreaming again.

"I was worried, so I was tracking you and Cap'. Even on one leg, I'm better than CCTV and these kids who work for your brother these days." Sherlock let out a snort and nearly smiled for thr first time in two days. "I follow the blog, I knew my brother was behind everything, since that cabbie case, I didn't know what his grand scheme was, there didn't seem to be an endgame that I could see. You - ever since Carl - my father, he, was like Jim."

"And you."

Janine narrowed her eyes at him. "You don't think a leopard can chamge their spots, that's rich, coming from you of all people. My father had this thing, we called it 'the family business,' he had all sorts of people in his pocket. It's why you got laughed out of Scotland Yard. Cops, judges, people in places - when Carl played his 'joke' on Jim, I was furious, it wasn't an accident. Jimmy was smaller, quiet, smart as hell, and he made Carl look stupid in class one too many times. Maybe he didn't intend to almost kill him, but everyone knew Jim had an allergy to most of the crap in shampoo, all Carl had to do was dump out what was in the bottle he used and put in a different one - I'm the one who found him, he didn't come back to class after gym, so the teacher sent me..." She coughed and took another sip. "I wanted the Powers kid dead. I thought if Jim did it, had some sense of control, power over a life, it might give him a better sense of himself."

"It worked."

"Yeah, unfortunately, they split us up when he was able to go back to school, and our dad put him in one of those ultra-competitive schools that usually creates PMs or -"

"Criminal masterminds?" Sherlock grinned not unkindly at her.

"Yeah... and then -"

"My brother - when you said he knew everyone in the room..."

Janine shook her head. "You need to ask him, not my story to tell you."

"It is."

"No. But, I will tell you this. No matter what else he did, he saved me."

Sherlock gazed at her, and tried to read her face.

"Sorry, sweet, I was trained to withstand that famous 'Holmes' glare. Taught by the best. No, I mean - because of him, I went into the military and I met my 'Cap' Watson'. I know what you were before you met him. I was the same way, but worse, no I didn't do drugs - but I had that same sense of self-loathing. When my connection to Jimmy was broken, I lost myself, I was rebuilt into a machine by your brother, and then sent off to war, god, I miss Afghanistan. Not as it is now, but in the beginning, when there was that crazy idealism, I don't know who we were kidding, ourselves, mostly, but I realised I could be anyone. I could be a hero, if I wanted - because no one cared if I lived or died. Until Davey. Davey was one of those Cap' tried to save, probably one of those he has nightmares about - he was my best friend - basically, my heart -"

"Cor cordium?" Sherlock whispered.

Janine started as an unwelcome tear slid down her cheek. "He called me Corie. He renamed me, rebuilt me. Then he was gone. I should have hated Cap' for saving me, but - I couldn't. I was there when he died, and then I saw him come back, like he had something to stay for - he opened his eyes and saw me, and he smiled at me before he passed out again. It was as if Davey -" she closed her eyes and yawned.

Sherlock nodded. "If you're tired I'll go. I didn't mean to - I'm just trying to make sense of things."

"Cap' didn't have the answers you needed."

"If I had -"

"What? What could you have done differently? You are the reason he can't hurt anyone ever again. If anyone made him, it was me and our father. You stopped him, Sherlock. You are the only one who could have, but because you had Cap' you didn't destroy yourself in the process. When that gun went off, he moved in front of you, he was ready to stand between you and death. He knew what it was, what it meant, but he knew if something happened to him, you would find a way to keep going."

Sherlock shook his head.

"You would have because you know it would have been what he wanted you to do. He told you that, didn't he? And those words sent you to me."

Sherlock opened his eyes and looked at her, then nodded.

"Idiot. Go home."

Sherlock snorted and smiled in spite of himself. He got up and kissed her forehead, then left the room, only to run into Mycroft.

"Sherlock. How is she?"

"Awake." Sherlock turned from him and began to walk away, but muttered quietly, before disappearing down the hallway, "not yet, Myc, just give me some time."


	44. Chapter 44

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> short bit... boys talk, yes, sometimes even these two are idiots.

Sherlock closed the door quietly, slid off his shoes, then looked up to find John standing in front of him.

"I - "

John laid a hand on his chest and shook his head.

"Please -"

"When I woke up, you weren't there, and at first I panicked, and then I remembered we had cameras everywhere, I could call your brother and he would know an approximation of your whereabouts, so I laid back down, buried my face in your pillow and went back to sleep. He is going to take them out again soon, isn't he?"

"John. Please. I know I haven't - I would have done the same for you. At the pool. But I froze, I froze when she started talking, and all I could do was look at Moriarty's face. He was hearing a ghost. Seeing a ghost, he had spent his life idolizing his sister, who put him on the path that made him what he was, and then she died and he made her something that no one could live up to, some kind of avenging angel - and then there she was in front of him - I should have been able to move, to stop him, but I couldn't. And then you - if he had tried to shoot me, it would have been you, and I - and then it was over and you went to her, and for a moment, I couldn't hear or feel or think, and then -"

John laid his trembling fingers over Sherlock's lips and leaned his head on Sherlock's chest. He sighed and closed his eyes as Sherlock kissed his fingers and wrapped his arms around him. "I don't know what I would have done, if I had lost you, John. I still don't think you know how important you are to me."

John shook his head and looked up into Sherlock's eyes. "I do. It was instinct, no, it was - I didn't have time to think, I just moved. I didn't even know I had done it until later, when I saw you sitting there, you were in shock, and you wouldn't look at me or talk to me. I got you home and you just kept looking at me, and I replayed what I did and then I understood. I won't apologise for it. You - I keep thinking I can't love you any more than I did last week, or last month, but, I know, even if you don't want to hear me say it again, you would have been able to keep going without me -"

"No."

John smiled at him and whispered, "yes, you would have. You would have hated it, but you would have done it, because other people need you to be here, and you know it, you didn't really believe that before. But, I'm here. And I won't promise not to try to protect you again, because it's not something I can promise you, unless you are going to stop working cases and we become bakers or something safer. Because what you do, what we do, isn't safe, Sherlock. So you will just have to accept that I will do everything I can to make sure you make it home. With me. Now, I know you haven't slept for two days -"

"Stop."

"What?"

"Just - I'm starving, and I want to take you to bed and not leave for three days, and I need a shower, and I don't know what I want to do first. I'm sorry for not being able to talk to you, I've been thinking what my life would be like without you in it, and you've been here waiting for me to see that you are here. I'm an idiot."

"Uhmhmm. Shower first, then we'll order something, and then you can take me to bed for three days. How does that sound -"

They both looked down at Sherlock's phone when it buzzed and swore. "Mycroft." John growled.

"He's outside." Sherlock sighed. "Go get in the shower. I'll make it fast, I promise."

"Sherlock, he -"

"I know. I need to do this, John." Sherlock kissed him until he felt some of the tension fade. "Five minutes."

"Five minutes." John nodded and left the room.

Sherlock waited until he heard the shower running, then opened the door. "You have five minutes starting, now."


	45. Chapter 45

Sherlock stood at the window and waited for Mycroft to begin. "Four minutes."

"This was a mistake."

"Probably, but you are here. I know and understand some of it, and I'm not sure I want to know the rest."

"My hands were tied."

"When? Which time? Carl Powers? The cabbie? When did you know he was behind the Black Lotus, of Sebastian's involvement? I'm assuming before John nearly died at the museum. It is clear you let us walk into a trap at the pool - you claim to care so very much, Mycroft, and yet -"

"I had lost track of both of them. And -"

"You had trained them yourself, so they knew how to disappear. I just wonder what it would have cost you to tell me. Yes, possibly, when I was a child, I might not have understood why people wouldn't want to catch the people who killed a child. But, now, over the last months, once you knew who was behind everything - you wanted - you couldn't ever have him arrested or brought to trial, could you? So you needed it to play out as it did. No matter what it could have cost me. If he had decided to shoot me instead of his sister, he would have probably killed John, who had moved to stand in front of me, but you didn't know that, did you? No, because you were sitting in your car, waiting to see how it would play out. You offered her a job once she's through rehab, didn't you? And she accepted. Because she knows she doesn't belong anywhere else. That's the difference between Janine and me. I know where I belong, and it's here with my husband. I don't need you, any longer, Mycroft and I'm not sure what further purpose you think I can serve, as I've fixed your problem for you. Right now, I need a shower to wash the last, what, twenty years off of me, and your five minutes are up. Oh, and you can pick up the cameras and bugs anytime we aren't at home, you should be able to tell when that is. You can find your way out, yes?"

Mycroft knew at this point that nothing he could say would sway his brother, so he nodded at his brother's back, clutched his umbrella tighter in his hand and left the flat.

 

"Went well, did it, Sir?" Anthea asked quietly.

"About as well as you said it would."

Anthea looked back at him and knew better than to ask if he wanted to talk about it. She rolled her eyes and drove them to the nearest bakery.

 

"Bit rough on him, weren't you?" John muttered as he rinsed Sherlock's hair.

"You heard all that."

"I think the entire block could hear it, even over the construction work."

"I trusted him, John. More than I ever trusted anyone before I met you, which isn't saying much, but I guess - I thought it meant something that I was his brother - my whole life, he's kept things from me, and it feels like the work, our work, has been nothing but part of the lies."

"No. Sherlock. Love, you were able to stop the cabbie from poisoning more people, we saved Soo Lin, and -"

"John."

"And the other work we've done, the cases that come from our clients? You have helped people, Sherlock, when no one else would. There is nothing fake about what you can do, no matter what Mycroft has lied to you about, or kept from you, you are still the World's Only Consulting Detective. And there is nothing fake about how I love you, you know that, right? And now, we are going to get out of this shower and I think you promised me three days in bed?"

"Dumplings first? And those prawn things... you need feeding up, John Watson. Someone has been neglecting their duties as of late." Sherlock pulled John tightly against him and chuckled as he felt John melt in his arms. "I love you, too."


	46. Chapter 46

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a bit of a note...

This series started out with a bit of an idea - what if Sherlock and John met online, when both were in rehab? It somehow became a rewrite of Season 1, much to my surprise. With the death of Moriarty, I see the boys carrying on together for many happy years, perhaps one day retiring to Sussex, but I think these two will always be at 221B Baker Street. 

So, a big thank you to my lovely readers who stuck with it and with me, even when I wasn't quite sure about where this was going, and yes, I do think, eventually, Sherlock forgives Mycroft, with some nagging from John.

<3


End file.
